


meet me in the woods tonight

by brawls (brawlite), ToAStranger



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 90's Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Discussions of death, Dream Sex, Drugs, Gore, Grief/Mourning, Hawkins is a College Town, Horror, Human Experimentation, M/M, Monsters, Nightmares, Obsession, Pining, Reunions, Transformation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Weird dreams, also probably more importantly there's people dying in the woods in strange ways, and no one knows why, billy's got a crush, dubcon/noncon moments in a dream, everyone else is just along for the ride, everyone goes to hawkins university -- think sunnnydale university from buffy, experimentation on a child, maybe the shady government lab has something to do with it?, more dead bodies, steve's having none of it, takes place in the early 90's, terminal illness, the reality of death, who knows! it's a mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-07-23 15:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 86,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16161824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brawlite/pseuds/brawls, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: There’s something in the woods of Hawkins, Indiana.





	1. a little journey to the unknown

**Author's Note:**

> _happy halloween!_

**-*-**

The first thing Hopper notices is the _smell_. Sickly. _Sweet_.

Rancid.

Like something's been rotting slowly for years.

“Jesus christ,” Hop says, hand over his mouth.

The body is skin and bone. Blood smeared against the bark of a shattered tree stump, coagulated against the back of his head. Body covered in overgrowth.

Hopper would think the body's been here for ages, dug up by construction, if it wasn't for the badge around his neck and the orange vest identifying him as part of the crew.

The crew that just arrived in Hawkins not three days ago to work on the expansion of the Department of Energy’s facilities.

-*-

The Hawkins woods are dark at night. The trees are tall and they tower ominously against the blackness of the sky, swaying and groaning in the breeze.

The woods feel _alive_.

The second Steve steps into them, he's pretty sure he can feel the woods breathing around him. Pretty sure he can feel a heartbeat underneath his feet.

“This is stupid,” Barb whispers, hisses really, and Steve nearly jumps out of his skin when Tommy cackles and smacks him on the back.

“What's _stupid_ about it?” Tommy asks. “Just a night in the woods, _Barbie_.”

Steve can _hear_ Carol slap Tommy.

For a moment, Steve forgets where they are and _grins._ Just a moment, though, because soon after that, Jonathan steps on a twig that _cracks_ and Steve nearly jumps out of his skin.

“You okay?” Nancy asks, hand on Steve's forearm.

“ _Yeah._ Yeah, I'm-- I mean, like, someone just _died_ out here.” Steve says, bringing his voice down so Tommy won't give him shit about it. “Kinda got the creeps, is all.”

“So _why_ are we out here, again?” Barb asks.

“Because it's _fun_ ,” Carol says, linking arms with her, winking. “C'mon, Barb, have some fun. It's just like a camping trip but with ghost stories.”

“ _Ghost stories,”_ Jonathan says, with that half grin Steve knows means he's being a little shit.

Steve elbows him. “Shut up, dude.”

“We’re not even camping,” Barb says.

“Do you even _like_ camping?” Tommy asks.

Carol slaps him. _Again._

Steve stifles a laugh and Nancy pinches him.

“You gotta admit,” she says, ponytail bobbing. “It is a little _morbid_. Us coming out here.”

“Yeah, okay, a _little_ morbid.” Tommy says, tripping over himself as he takes the lead.

“Do you even know what that _means_?” Barb asks, shoving by with Carol.

“Little or morbid?” Carol laughs.

Tommy pouts, walking backwards. “Was that a dick joke?”

Carol holds up her pinky. “Maybe a _little_.”

“Oh, it's on.” Tommy stops, scoops Carol up and over his shoulder before taking off running. “Last one to the clearing is a rotten _fucking_ egg!”

Jonathan glances at Nancy. “You heard the man. Rotten fucking eggs, Nance.”

“ _Don't--"_

Steve laughs as Jonathan scoops her up, sharing a look with Barb. They watch as the two take off and Barb lingers.

Steve's grateful. If only to not be alone in the night.

“C'mon, Barb!” Nancy calls.

“You okay?” Barb asks instead.

Steve nods. “Yeah. Totally. Go on. I'll catch up. I'll probably beat you.”

“You probably won't,” Barb says.

And then she's off, disappearing into the darkness of the woods, only the light of her flashlight bobbing in front of her.

It takes a moment for the silence to really hit Steve, the true and suffocating feeling of _aloneness_.

It's like he can _feel_ it, deep in the pit of his stomach. It tastes like rot, on his tongue.

Steve swallows. The leaves rustle around him.

He knows he should probably take after them. Join them in this ridiculous chase; in the laughter.

But he wasn't lying when he said he was creeped. He thinks it's the open air. The bite of autumn. It makes the threadbare branches arc in haunted claws across the sky. Reaching like gnarled fingers, waiting to snatch something up.

Steve lets out a shaky exhale. Checks his hands to make sure they're not shaking.

He thinks he might need to talk to his therapist about his prescription.

Just as suddenly as Steve is standing there, alone, shrouded by the shadows of the wood, he is not alone. He feels it, like needles across his nape, drawing the breath from him.

Then the _crack_ of noise. The haunting _yowl_.

Steve jerks off the path before he can think about it. Steps into the layered underbrush, flashlight pointed forward, a catch in his throat and a cold sweat on his skin.

There are eyes on him.

“Nancy?” he calls out; hopes the sound wasn't her-- or _anyone_ \-- but mostly her.

There a warbling whine pitched in reply.

Steve goes a little faster. “ _Nance?”_

When his light hits red-- red hair, red _blood_ \-- he thinks he was _wrong._ Feels something pit in him.

“Barb?”

But it isn't Barb. It isn't Carol, either. It screeches, mouth open, teeth bared.

His dad told him once, on one of their many failed hunting trips, that _foxes scream like a bitch in heat when they're hurt._

It doesn't _sound_ like that _at all_. It sounds _sad_. Broken. _Scared._

Steve drops to his knees.

“Hey,” Steve whispers as it tucks its ears back, fur billowing out, scrabbling to get free of the trap its leg is caught in. “Hey, buddy, it's okay.”

It could be _rabid_.

But.

But it’s _trapped_. It’s _hurt_.

And most importantly, it’s _scared_. Just like Steve.

Steve drops the light from directly at its face, gives it a break from the brightness in the dark. He takes one step closer, and then another. Keeping his movements quiet and gentle, as far away from predatory as he can get.

It calms, a bit.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Steve says. He hopes it understands his tone. The words are more for himself than anything.

Still, when he reaches, it snaps its teeth at him. Snarls and lets out a keening screech so loud it echoes.

It sounds like someone _dying_ and Steve feels his throat go tight.

“Listen,” he mutters, hands steadying. “You can bite me all you want, but I'm getting you outta this thing, okay?”

It snaps again, but even Steve can see the pain in the motion, the _fatigue_. The animal is just _tired_ , at the end of its rope. Panicking, without a direction.

The next time Steve reaches forward, it just snarls. Baring its teeth, like a reminder.

With great care, wedging the flashlight between his teeth, he reaches out with both hands. Fumbles with the spring mechanism of the trap. Winces when the poor thing warbles and whines, paws skittering in the brush.

“ _M’sorry, m’sorry,_ ” he mumbles around the end of the flashlight. “M’ _trying.”_

And then, like magic, the lock springs free. Steve works the jaws of it open and the fox jerks free, scrambling a few feet away as Steve quickly retracts back his hands from the harsh _snap_ of metal on metal and falls back on his ass into the dirt.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, chest heaving.

For a moment, there is only silence.

When Steve turns to look, pointing the flashlight at where the fox fled to, he expects to find nothing. Instead, the light illuminates the two glowing eyes of the fox, who stands unmoving, simply _looking_ at him.

Steve _swallows._ Hopes that this doesn't end up with him in the ER getting all kinds of shots and a scraped up face.

Those eyes watch him. Unblinking. _Gold_ and _red_ , like a fall sunset.

Steve feels that prickle. That _rush_ of sensation he knows is in his head. The one that says _I'm watching you_ \--

“Stevie!” Tommy's voice bellows into the darkness and Steve jerks around, reflexively pointing his light that way. “Stevie, man, if you're playing a _joke_ \--"

“I'm here! I'm right over--" Steve looks back to where the fox was and finds nothing but shadows. “-- here.”

Tommy doesn't say anything back. It's like he was never even _there_. Which is weird, because Tommy _never shuts up_.

“Tommy?” Steve says, quiet.

Feeling like somehow, shouting wouldn't be a good idea.

Steve pushes slowly, _carefully_ , to his feet. Uses the light to check the area around him, hands shaking again, throat dry.

The fox is _gone._

Just as slow, just as _goddamn careful_ , Steve takes a step back. Then another. Then _another_.

The heel of his sneaker _squelches_ into something soft. When he looks, it's the bits of a mushroom, decaying under his foot.

The _scream_ that follows is terrifyingly inhuman in its exact replica of a human crying out in pain.

Steve _runs._

Turns heel and bolts, hoofing it back to where he came from, from the safety of the trail. He knows-- _he knows_ he's being stupid, he's overreacting, but he doesn't _care_.

Because that scream didn't sound _scared_. It sounded _angry_.

He _needs_ to be by his friends. It burns inside him, urges him forward, through underbrush and past snapping branches that catch in his hair, on his clothes.

But no matter how fast he runs, he feels like something's biting at his ankles. Just out of reach.

Toying with him.

It's _stupid_ , so stupid, Steve tells himself. Nothing’s out here. Nothing.

There _can't_ be anything out here, other than ghost stories and his own fear.

At the back of his head, beyond the buzz of _fear,_ Steve hears his dad. Hears him as he throws his nightlight in the bin, sneer on his face, disgust in his voice-- _you don't need that thing, kiddo, you gotta grow up_. Hears him, as they sit in the dark, in the early dawn, rifle smoke in his nose, some poor, dead deer dotting the snow with blood like blossoms in winter-- _animals know, kiddo, that it's safer in the dark-- nothing can see you if you don't go into the light_.

Steve stumbles toward it anyway. Like a moth to a flame.

He collides, practically headfirst, with Tommy the second he breaks through the brush.

“ _Jesus_ , Stevie, what _happened?_ Is that _blood_ \--?”

“There was-- there was--" but Steve can't get the words out, his own throat, his own tongue, _fights him_.

“Guys, he's over here!” Tommy shouts, puts his hand on Steve's chest and grips his shoulder. “Easy, Steve, just breathe, yeah?”

“Did you hear --?” Steve asks, pressing the words out in between breaths.

“Hear _what?_ The yowling?” Tommy asks, nose scrunching up. “It's _mating_ season, Steve--"

Steve blinks as Nancy and Jonathan and Carol come around the bend, flashlights shining in his face, and he hisses and winces back.

“Oh, my _god_. Steve are you _okay?”_

Steve blinks again, down at his bloody fingers, and then swallows once. Twice.

“Yeah. _Yeah_ , it was-- there was a fox in a trap and--"

Tommy rolls his eyes, fond and exasperated and relieved. “ _Jeezus._ You gave me a _heart attack_ , you know that?”

Steve lets Tommy’s worry warm the chill out of his bones for a moment. And it’s not that he _needs_ someone to fret and fawn over him, but it’s kinda _nice_ when he’s reminded of the fact that someone cares enough about him to do just that. So, Tommy’s _still_ picking at the blood on Steve’s fingers, playfully shoving at Steve in the way that says, _I was worried about you_ in the fondest way, when Nancy interrupts:

“Hey -- where’s Barb?”

Tommy groans. “You're fucking kidding-- she was _with you_!”

“No, she _wasn’t_ , she was with _Steve_ ,” Nancy says.

And then, she looks at Steve, flashlight hovering over him.

Steve’s stomach twists and drops.

He doesn't say _no, she wasn't, she ran off after you_. Doesn't try and _excuse it_.

Instead, he grips his flashlight tight, shakes his head, and straightens out. “Barb!”

Jonathan quickly follows suit. “Barb! Where are you?”

Steve _should_ have gone with her. He’s not stupid; they _all_ learned about the _buddy system_ back in elementary school. Just because they’re in college now doesn’t excuse anything.

“Barb _!”_

“ _Barb!”_

The shouts echo and reverberate through the trees, sometimes carrying far and bouncing back. Sometimes, hitting dead and decaying leaves first, falling flat and heavy.

“We should stick together,” Jonathan says, when Carol and Tommy suggest peeling off, looking for her in groups.

“We could cover more ground like that,” Carol says. And Steve _knows_ her voice, has known her for years -- she’s _worried_. Concerned.

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head again, trying to sound _firm._ “No, last I saw her, she was taking off toward the clearing. We know what direction she was going, and we don't want anyone else to disappear.”

He doesn’t say what he _knows_ they’re all thinking: that someone _died_ in these woods not even two days ago. Someone who died in circumstances the police reported as _mysterious and unusual_.

“They’re right,” Nancy says. And Steve can hear the fear in her voice, too. With Nancy _and_ Carol on edge, Steve doesn’t stand a chance. “We should stick together.

“Fine, _whatever_ ,” Tommy says, like they’re all making a big deal out of nothing. Like he wasn’t fretting over Steve only a moment ago. “ _Barb_!”

It echoes, endlessly, everytime they call her name. Echoes until it doesn't anymore. Until their throats are raw from crying out her name and the sun is burning at the edges of the forest.

Painting the world in red.

-*-

The police find her body the next day, before noon.

Steve hasn’t slept at all when he gets the news. When he’s called down to the police station, numb, to give a _statement_ with the rest of them. Their little group. Everyone but _Barb_.

The police don’t sugar coat it for Steve or Tommy or Jonathan. Steve thinks they do, for Nancy and Carol. He kind of wishes they’d sugar coated it for him, too. He’s having trouble swallowing. Breathing.

Having trouble even _conceptualizing_ it.

Barb’s _dead_.

Drowned. In the quarry.

Well -- no. Not _quite_. Dead, when she hit the water, Hopper says.

Steve's not shaking the way he'd expect himself to. His body is still. _Numb_.

“I don't-- I don't understand.” Steve says. “What do you mean--? She died? Before she drowned?”

“It’s too steep a fall. When you hit the water, there’s no give. It’s like falling onto concrete.” Hopper sighs and lights a cigarette. “It happens every year. Either with kids slipping and falling, roughhousing nearby while they’re drunk, or -- well,” Hopper pauses and takes a long breath. “Or suicide.”

“Barb _didn't--"_

“No one's saying she did.” Hopper exhales smoke and offers out a cigarette to him. “It was dark, the ground was wet, and people get spooked in the woods at night.”

Steve bites down on the inside of his cheek, look at his hands on the table. “Like I did.”

Before Hopper can take the cigarette back, Steve takes it, accepts the light, and breathes the smoke deep into his lungs. He hasn’t smoked in a _while_ , but it feels good, the burning. Comforting.

“What had you spooked, kid?” Hopper asks, after a moment of quiet.

“Just, uh… the foxes. They were screaming.”

“Is that all you heard in the woods?”

Steve takes another drag. “What else would I have heard, Hop? Unless-- you think Barb wasn't an accident?”

Hopper sighs. “Your friend wasn’t murdered, Harrington. But someone else _was_ , and we’re still looking for the killer.”

“Right, yeah. But-- but you don't think _maybe_ \-- maybe it _wasn't_ an accident--" Steve's breath hitches, falters, _fails._ “Maybe it wasn't an accident, Hop, and either way _it was my idea_ \--”

“She _slipped and fell_ , kid,” Hop says, firm, interrupting him. “Trust me. I’ve seen it too many times. I know what it looks like. It wasn’t her fault, and it wasn’t your fault, either.”

Steve doesn’t want to know what he saw. Doesn’t want to know if Barb scrambled at the wet dirt with her fingers, tried to stop herself from falling. Doesn’t want to know about the way her shoes could have dug into the mud by the cliff and left long lines there for the police to find. Doesn’t want to _know_. And yet.

“It was my idea to go out there, Hop. She wouldn't have come if I hadn't suggested it to everyone.”

“That doesn’t make it your fault,” Hop says. “Accidents happen.”

“Yeah.” Steve says, more to himself than anything else. “Yeah, accidents happen.”

But he doesn't _believe_ it.

-*-

Steve takes a week off of school.

Nancy does too.

Jonathan, Tommy, and Carol don’t. It’s not because they’re not _sad_ , Steve knows. It’s just how they _deal_. He knows, because Tommy calls him every night, drunk off his ass, just to say goodnight. And he hasn’t done _that_ since his dad died when he was eighteen. Steve was there for him then and he’s there for him now. It helps, a little, too. Knowing he’s not alone in his grief.

-*-

Hawkins University was established in 1897 as a land grant school. Predominantly based off agriculture, it grew as agsci grew, the university eventually making enough to own their own ranch and raise their own cattle.

The Future Farmers of America even got their own house on Greek row.

From the very beginning, Hawkins has been a farm town. Not much happens there, other than the occasional drunk and disorderly or cow tipping. Frequently at the same time.

Until two weeks ago, two bodies showing up in the span of 48 hours.

When Steve finally comes back to campus, the entire place is still a buzz. Nothing but whispers and ghost stories.

There's even a display outside of the library where Barb worked. Flowers and pictures and stuffed animals.

It makes Steve's stomach turn.

He finds Nancy sitting at the tables outside the Brenner Library. Named for the guy who ran the Department of Energy complex nearby for years and then up and quit, apparently. But not before throwing a bunch of money at the town, at the school. There’s a Brenner Park downtown, too. Too small a town, too many connections.

Just like how everyone thinks they knew Barb. Like how everyone’s _grieving_ and they didn’t even _know_ her. Probably hadn’t even _met_ her.

“She _hated_ , like, _everyone_ ,” Steve says, sitting down across from Nancy at her picnic table.

She’s studying. It’s how she copes.

Steve pulls out a cigarette. He doesn’t know _how_ to cope, but he’s up for trying anything.

“That's bad for you,” Nancy says.

Steve grunts. He hasn't been sleeping, even with pills; this helps keep him awake.

He's smoking when Tommy comes jogging up and plops down between them. “Thank _fuck_ you're back, Stevie. History is _boring_ as _fuck_ without you.”

“History is boring as fuck _anyway_ ,” Steve says. “Where’s Carol?” he asks Tommy, because he rarely sees the two of them apart and he _knows_ Jonathan is in class right now and he doesn’t like the idea of not knowing where someone is.

“Conference with her modern art professor.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Right. Already conference season?”

Tommy nods. “Apparently one of your friends dying isn’t enough to get out of it.”

Steve winces and drags hard. “Tommy--"

“Too soon?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but at least Nancy smacks him in Carol's place.

“You're an insensitive prick,” Steve says, but softens it with a squeeze to the shoulder.

“But you love me anyway,” Tommy says, and Steve can’t bring himself to correct him, because it’d be a lie. “Hey, did you guys see the transfer student? Apparently they let him in even though he’s like, nearly a _month_ late. Apparently his grades are _killer_. He’s probably got deep pockets, too.”

“Not everyone with good grades has deep pockets,” Nancy says.

Tommy gives her a look. “Yeah. I _have_ met your boyfriend, Nance.”

Nancy smacks him again, and he grins.

“That’s not exactly _news_ ,” Steve says. “We get transfers all the time.”

“Yeah, but,” Tommy says, “we’re nearly a _month_ into classes.” Tommy shrugs. “Whatever, he just seems cool, is all.”

Steve lifts a brow, affects a levity he doesn't really feel, but knows they might all need. “Cool, huh? Been checking him out, Tommy?”

“Yeah, okay, laugh it up, Harrington. He’s just got this -- vibe, or whatever. He looks _cool_. I didn’t say he was _hot_.”

“I dunno, Tommy.” Steve says, passing him the cigarette when Tommy holds out a hand. “They say college is a time for experimenting-- I wouldn't judge, man--”

“You know I’ve only got eyes for you, Stevie,” Tommy grins.

Steve clutches a hand to his chest. Fakes a swoon as Nancy snorts.

“Finally. Our unspoken love put to words. Quick, lay one on me, before Carol finds out about our love affair.”

Tommy cackles but actually goes for it. Cranes up, reaching for him, puckering his lips.

Wouldn't be the first time, honestly.

“Am I interrupting?” Carol asks, expression dry, stopped at the edge of their table.

Steve pulls back, even as Tommy grins and tries to pull him closer. “Might wanna get ahold of your boyfriend, Carol.”

But Tommy? Tommy's _dedicated_. He manages to smack one on Steve's cheek before getting _thoroughly_ distracted by Carol.

“You were gone for _so long_ ,” he says, winding his arms around her.

“It was, like, twenty minutes.” Carol huffs with a laugh, pulling his arms tighter around her waist and smearing his lips with her pink lipstick.

“We have class in ten,” Steve reminds Tommy.

“You _do_ ,” Nancy says. “And we’ve already missed a lot.”

Tommy groans.

“C'mon, Tommy.” Steve sighs, pushing to his feet, stamping out his cigarette. “See you guys later? Lunch?”

Carol kisses Tommy for, like, another whole _minute_ and then lets him go. “Lunch,” Nancy promises.

Steve knows it’ll be weird, just the five of them at their usual cafeteria table with one empty seat, but at least they’ll be together.

Tommy drags Steve out of his thoughts by looping an arm around his neck, more touchy-feely than usual, which Steve can’t even _complain_ about because it feels good to be up next to someone like this, especially someone like Tommy, who Steve’s known since they were both in diapers.

“Seriously, though, Harrington, I missed you in history. It’s _so_ boring.”

“You think everything is boring.” Steve says, but leans into him as he leads into the building and up the stairs to their ancient civilizations course.

“Maybe because everything _is_ boring,” Tommy says.

They’re weaving through a crowd of students trying to get to the stairs, when Tommy presses _in_ , suddenly, lips at Steve’s ear.

“There, over there. See that guy? Jean jacket and mullet, ten-o'clock.”

“Tommy, I don't--"

But Steve sighs when Tommy nudges him and _looks_.

Looks and sees him, the _new guy_ , leaning outside the door to their history class. Boots and tight jeans and messy, wild hair.

“Oh.”

“ _Right?_ ” Tommy says, and Steve _gets_ it, now, just what Tommy meant by _cool_.

Because the guy? He radiates this aura of self-confidence and looks absolutely badass. He’s pretty much the _coolest_ _person_ Steve’s ever _seen_ in Hawkins.

Which-- is _dumb_. But.

But kinda _true_.

And then the guy is looking over, _staring,_ eyes as blue as the summer sky.

Steve clears his throat and looks away. “Alright, you're right, very _cool_. Let's get to class?”

“You’re the boss,” Tommy says, and then follows Steve toward the room.

Problem is, they have to walk _right_ past the guy. Those blue eyes never leave Steve, even as Steve pushes past and into the room. Even _in_ the room, as he’s finding his seat, not even looking toward the door, Steve can feel eyes on him. The sensation of being _watched_.

Steve shifts in his seat. Drops his bag at his feet and digs in, pulling out a notebook and fumbling for a pencil.

“I'm gonna have to steal your notes, Tommy.”

Tommy snorts. “Like I _ever_ take notes.”

“ _Tommy--”_

“You can borrow my notes,” someone says. When Steve leans back up, someone’s leaning on Steve’s desk, hands splayed over fake wood.

Steve looks into bright blue eyes.

“Uh,” Steve swallows, pencil flipping between his fingers. “Yeah, sure, man. Sounds great.”

“Great,” the guy says, all smiles, and slides into the seat next to Steve.

When Steve looks over at Tommy, Tommy’s somewhere between grinning and awestruck. He feels Tommy’s toe kick at his heel and Steve rolls his eyes before turning his focus back on the stranger next to him as he slides notes across the desk for him.

“Thanks. I’m Steve Harrington,” he says and offers a hand.

“Billy,” the guy says, as his fingers find Steve’s. His hand is _warm_ and his grip is firm. “Billy Hargrove.”

Steve kinda _loses_ himself in the handshake for a moment, before Tommy’s voice snaps him out of it. His hand settles on Steve’s shoulder, like he’s trying to wedge his way into the moment.

“Tommy Hunt,” Tommy says.

Billy just smirks.

Steve jerks his hand back, sits back in his seat, turns his focus forward as the professor comes in. Even as Tommy pops his head over Steve’s shoulder to look at Billy.

“So, where you from, Hargrove?”

Billy just shrugs. “Bit of everywhere, bit of nowhere. Traveled a lot, growing up.”

“Awesome,” Tommy says, like he’s impressed.

Steve just rolls his eyes, fond. Tommy’s always been the guy to fall for the glitz and the glamor of someone new in town. Always been one to get suckered in with the promise of something _exciting_.

“What made you move down here?” Tommy asks, and Steve glances at him, brow up.

“Did you wanna swap seats, or?” Steve asks.

Tommy smacks his shoulder, eyes flitting to Billy.

Billy just looks _amused_ , looking at Steve, and then at Tommy.

“Class is starting,” he says, eyes flicking toward the teacher. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other, later.”

It sounds like a _promise_.

-*-

Class flies by pretty fast. Steve prefers that to it dragging on. Especially with Tommy playing peek-a-boo with the _enigmatic stranger_ , as Nancy would call him, to his right. Especially with the way Steve swears-- _swears_ \-- Billy keeps looking at him.

That same needle prick of sensation. Of _eyes_ on him.

So, when it’s over, Steve is quick to slide Billy his notes back with a tight smile and a soft thanks. Quick to stand up and throw his bag over his shoulder. Quick to look at Tommy.

“Let’s get to lunch--”

“Oh, hey, _yeah_.” Tommy grins, looking at Billy. “New guy. Wanna join us for lunch?”

Steve’s heart feels like it skips.

His chest twists even more when Billy puts on a slow grin and says, “Sure, why not?”

And Steve _knows_ Tommy’s somewhere between _charmed_ and just trying to _distract_ himself, so Steve can’t be _mad_ , but he can definitely be -- not pleased about it.

He adjusts the strap on his shoulder, shifts on his feet, and gives Tommy a look that he can’t misinterpret. Tommy shrugs.

“Alright,” Steve sighs, another tight smile on his face. “Sure. _Why not_?”

Steve catches sight of Tommy’s eyes rolling as he turns heel and starts walking.

“I’ll catch up, Stevie! Gotta talk to the professor. Show the new guy the way.”

But Steve doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow down. Walks and nearly feels like breaking into a full sprint when he hears footsteps behind him.

He doesn’t, but. It’s tempting.

“Wait up, pretty boy,” Steve hears.

Steve absolutely does not wait up. Billy’s used to moving, apparently; he can move a little more.

“Don’t call me that,” Steve says, over his shoulder, like an afterthought; eyes forward and only forward.

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s _true_.”

Billy is, unfortunately, having zero problem keeping up.

“Um. _Okay_. Thanks?” Steve frowns, glancing over at him and finding Billy’s eyes burning and bright and blue.

“So, _Steve_ ,” Billy says, and for whatever reason that doesn’t sound any _better_ out of Billy’s lips. “What’s your major?”

“Undecided,” Steve says.

“Me too,” Billy says.

“Guy like you?” Steve clicks his tongue. “That doesn’t seem too likely.”

“You’re right,” Billy says, and he grins a little wider as he falls in step next to Steve. “I always know what I want.”

Steve huffs. “You use that line at the bars?”

Billy just gives him a knowing look and doesn’t say a damned thing.

When they arrive at the dining hall, Nancy and Jonathan are already there, which is preferable to having to be stuck with a new face while Steve waits around for everyone to arrive.

And look, it’s not that Steve doesn’t _like_ Billy, but the guy’s got a hard edge to him that Steve’s not really _used_ to, and he _already_ doesn’t really want to spend time around anyone right now. Anyone except his friends, anyway.

Barb’s _dead_ , and here Tommy is trying to befriend some new guy to, what, distract himself? _Replace_ her?

Steve doesn’t like it one bit.

Nancy raises her eyebrows at Steve as he slides into the chair next to her. Billy slides in next to him, sprawling like he owns all the real estate.

“Hi?” Jonathan says.

“Are you going to introduce us?” Nancy asks.

Steve sighs. “Nance, Jonathan, this is Billy Hargrove. Hargrove, this is Nancy and Jonathan. Tommy invited him.”

Nancy gives him a _look_. Jonathan just smiles at Steve, like he _understands_.

“Nice to meet you, Billy,” Nancy says. She’s the only one who sticks out her hand for Billy to shake.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Billy says, shaking her hand probably a little more _intimately_ than necessary.

“She's taken, buddy.” Steve tells him, reaching over and tugging Jonathan's tray closer with a finger, stealing some fries.

Billy just hums and leans back in his chair, hands snaking behind his head. Getting _comfy_.

“Do you believe that it’s in human nature to truly _belong_ to another person? Is it a biological imperative to commit yourself to another and eschew all other options?” When Steve makes a disgruntled noise, Billy just _smiles_. “I was just saying _hello,_ pretty boy.”

“I think you've just been paying a little too much attention to your philosophy 101 course,” Steve mutters.

Jonathan hides his grin in his coffee cup and nudges at Steve's foot under the table. Steve bites on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling back.

“I’m just saying,” Hargrove says. “Describing someone as _taken_ is awfully -- old-fashioned, isn’t it? Nancy here doesn’t belong to anyone, even if she’s currently involved with -- Jonathan, right?”

Steve stares at him for a second, then looks at Nancy. “Tell me this fake feminist rhetoric isn't working on you.”

Nancy shrugs a shoulder, smile small. “Maybe a bit.”

Steve makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Jonathan, she's lost to us.”

“ _Well_ ,” Jonathan says, and Steve clenches his jaw because he _knows_ it’s coming: “He’s not _wrong_.”

“Yeah, okay, I'm getting some food before you guys totally turn on me.” Steve pushes to his feet as Nancy laughs.

He's halfway through the cafeteria line when he feels the heat of Billy pressing close. Steve closes his eyes and holds his breath.

“Did you know stalking is a capital offense in the state of Indiana?” Steve asks, idle as he puts an apple onto his tray.

“I'm _hungry,”_ Billy says. He grabs an apple for himself, too. Green and shiny.

“Uh huh.”

“I think your friends like me more than you do.”

Steve frowns. “I don't even _know_ you.”

“And you’ve still known me for longer than they have.” Billy shrugs and grabs a burger from underneath a heat lamp and tosses it on his plate. “That says something about you, I think.”

“And what do you think it says?” Steve asks, inching down the line, grabbing some fries to replace the ones he stole from Jonathan.

“Good question,” Billy says, knocking into Steve’s shoulder as he pulls out of line and heads toward the soda fountain. His tray is stacked high with food, enough to feed a career football player -- which is maybe _accurate_ , because Billy looks like he spends a lot of time at the gym.

Steve snatches up a chicken sandwich from under the heat lamp before padding after him.

“That's not actually an answer,” Steve says, styrofoam cup nearly overflowing when he glances at Billy and finds something sharp and _triumphant_ there.

Steve feels something tug in his gut. Thinks: _hook, line, sinker._ Thinks: _goddamn it._

“It isn’t, is it?” Billy says.

And then he makes his way back to the table so that _Steve_ has to follow _him_. Jesus.

When they get back, Tommy and Carol are both there. Carol's sharing baby carrots from a small baggy with him.

She used to do that with Barb.

Steve tastes something bitter at the back of his mouth. Sits down with his ears ringing. Feels _sick_ because, for a second, he almost _forgot_.

“-- earth to Stevie. Come in, Steve.”

Steve jerks as Carol trails her nails against his forearm. Blinks up and clears his throat when he finds their eyes on him.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I _said_ we’re going down to the river tonight. Are you in?”

Barb used to _love_ going to the river. She had this one rock she used to always sit in and dangle her feet in the water. Steve _knows_ they’re going in, like, her memory, or whatever, but it’s still _tough_. Still raw.

Steve shifts, lips thinning. “The chief said we shouldn't be out after dark with an investigation still going on.”

“Then how about your place?” Tommy asks. “Party this weekend, but, like, a wake. You know?”

Steve glances at Nancy. “Jesus, Tommy, her _funeral_ is this weekend. She's not even in the _ground_ and you wanna _party?_ ”

Tommy’s face goes a little sour.

“Yeah, well I think it’s better than sitting inside and _moping_ about it. Barb wouldn’t want us to just _rot_ , Steve.”

“I'm not _saying_ that, I just--”

“My family’s always had _wakes_ ,” Tommy says. “Screw a _funeral_. People’s lives should be _celebrated_.”

“ _Okay_ , fine, _jesus_ , Tommy. _Sorry_.” Steve holds his hands up. “If that's what you all _want_ , then _fine._ ”

Nancy purses her lips. “Steve--"

“You know what? I forgot I need to catch up with my lit professor. I'll catch you guys later.”

Steve pushes his food away and then pushes to his feet. Tommy rolls his eyes.

“Steve, c'mon, man--"

“It's _fine,”_ Steve says, grabbing his bag. “Billy, it was nice meeting you. I'll see you guys later.”

And maybe it's not _fair_. People grieve in different ways-- Steve _knows_ that.

But Steve feels a _weight_ on his shoulders, in his gut, on his chest when he thinks about Barb. About her slipping, falling, _dying_. And knows it's _his_ fault.

Accident or not. It's Steve's fault.

-*-

His dad always said he had _his mother's disposition._

What he meant and what he means is that Steve is _weak_. Anxious, nervous, _emotional._ Afraid of everything.

He locked Steve in his closet, once, when he was eleven. When Steve was still convinced the boogeyman was in there.

Like his mother, Steve's been on and off medication since he was thirteen. Sleeping pills, mostly. Valium, when he really needs it.

He tries to avoid that, though. Mostly sticks to weed when he needs to calm down, these days. He's seen what prescription drugs do to his mother.

But he can't sleep. He's got Barb in his head and ghosts on his mind. He's up when Tommy calls.

“I'm sorry, Stevie.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, Tommy.”

But Tommy _knows_ Steve, so he says: “Yeah, I mean, there _is_. Look, man, we’re both sad. We both miss her. But I just want -- I don’t want to see you hole up, Stevie. We’re _there_ for you. We’ve got your back.”

Steve frowns up at his ceiling. “You shouldn't.”

There’s a beat. Then: “Why shouldn’t we have your back?”

“You _know_ why, Tommy.” Steve says, throat working.

“ _Hey_ ,” Tommy says, “it’s not your fault, Steve. Jesus, how can you think that?”

“Because it is?” Steve says, a little helpless, _feeling_ helpless. “I know I didn't push her, but-- but when I close my eyes, sometimes that's what I _see_ , and… and it's because we wouldn't have been out there if I hadn't suggested it.”

“It’s _not_ your fault,” Tommy presses. “We all wanted to go out there. She fell. Accidents _happen_.”

And people keep _saying_ that, but it doesn’t make it any _better_.

But Steve knows an argument he won't win. So he nods.

Even if Tommy can't see it. Even if he doesn't _believe_ it.

“Yeah. Accidents happen.”

-*-

The call with Tommy dwindles but doesn't end until it's two in the morning.

Steve still can't sleep.

He thinks that's the reason. The reason he pulls on his shoes and goes out. Drives out to the quarry, where they found Barb’s body. Sits on the hood of his car and rolls a joint.

Smokes it and listens to the dwindling cicadas scream.

-*-

“You look like shit,” Billy says, the next morning, when he finds Steve studying by at one of the tables in the cafe of the commons.

Steve sips his coffee, glancing up at him. “Good morning, Hargrove.”

“Good morning, _Harrington_ ,” Billy echoes with a grin, like it’s a _joke_ that Steve doesn’t particularly like him.

Steve huffs and turns his focus downward as Billy makes himself comfortable across from him. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Just figured I could keep you company. You’re all by your lonesome.”

“On the contrary,” Steve grins, propping his book up so Billy can see the cover. “Charlotte Bronte is keeping me plenty company.”

“Fan of the classics? Or are you just reading it for an assignment?” Billy asks, reaching out to to tap at the cover of Steve’s book, like he _just_ can’t keep his hands to himself.

Steve's brows go up. “You think I'm the kind of guy who reads _Jane Eyre_ in the morning for fun?”

“Could be,” Billy says. “I could be, too.”

And the _weird_ thing is -- despite the fact that Billy, like, _exudes_ the typical _bad boy_ vibes, he kinda seems like he _could_ be that kinda person. Like he contains _multitudes_ , or whatever.

“ _Are_ you?” Steve can't help but ask. “Reading about Mr. Rochester really get you going at eight in the morning?”

“You think I sleep that late? I’m an early riser, Harrington. No point in wasting the day, right?”

Steve's nose wrinkles up, but he's kinda grinning too. Knows Billy sees it because his eyes seem _brighter_.

“That's gross. I’m only up early when I _have_ to be.” Steve says, then shrugs. “Or when I haven't slept at all.”

“Night owl, huh?” Billy says. “Same. Why not both?”

“Well, I have to sleep at _some_ point.”

“Sleep is overrated,” Billy says. Then, he leans back in his chair and surveys the room. “Real small-town kinda place, huh?”

“Didn't know that before you moved here?” Steve asks and gives up on his book.

“Oh, I knew,” Billy says, but he doesn’t clarify.

Steve hums, giving a little nod. “So. Listen. I'm sorry if I've been a bit of a dick to you. There's just… kind of a lot going on.”

“One of your friends died,” Billy says. “Right?”

Steve's jaw flexes and his gaze strays, knee bouncing beneath the table. “Uh. Right. Yeah.”

Billy frowns a little, which is pretty much the only expression Steve’s seen him make _other_ than a grin. “I read about it in the paper. It’s a damn shame.”

Somehow, when Billy Hargrove calls something a _damn shame_ , he manages to _not_ sound sarcastic like every other person Steve’s ever heard that from.

“Yeah,” Steve huffs out a laugh, strained and short, clearing his throat past the sudden tightness there. “A real damn shame.”

“From what I hear, those cliffs should really be closed off. Too many people die there every year.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, sits up straight in his chair. “Could we, uh… could we _not_ talk about this?”

Billy puts up his hands in surrender, and somehow he makes _that_ look sarcastic, instead, eyebrows raised and faux-innocent faced. “Hey, you brought it up. I was just trying to offer my condolences.”

Even though Steve _didn’t_ , not really.

“Well. Thanks. I guess.” Steve says, going for his book again.

“You’re welcome,” Billy says, overwhelmingly, _painfully_ self assured.

Steve hates it.

Steve scoffs, brow pinching, and he pushes to his feet, gathering his things. “Good talk, I guess, Hargrove. Have a nice life, or whatever.”

Steve takes a kind of satisfaction in the way Billy frowns, in the way his head tilts like he's _confused_ , and then walks away.

-*-

The day of the funeral is bright, sunny. Hot for autumn.

Steve’s sweating in his suit. His tie is too tight. Nancy looks beautiful, next to Jonathan, next to Barb’s parents.

Steve can’t even look at them.

Dustin nudges into his side, lips pressed thin, a rose clutched in his hands. Steve puts an arm around him and squeezes him close.

He’s been babysitting him and his little nerd herd since he was in high school. Since he and Nancy were a thing and then after. It’s nice, having Dustin here, like an anchor. Knows that he had a _crush_ on Barb, at one point, and that it can’t be _easy_.

Steve thinks he’s brave. He feels small standing next to him.

Hands Dustin his own rose, when it’s time, because he doesn’t deserve to lay it on her coffin. Feels a buzz in his head and a prickle on his skin that he thinks is sweat, as he watches the procession. As they start to lower her down.

Loses focus for a while.

Doesn’t get it back until someone’s hand is on his arm. When he turns, he finds Mrs. Holland.

“Thank you for coming, Steve.”

Steve blinks a few times, realizes his eyes are wet, feels like there’s a fist in his throat-- or around it. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, Mrs. Holland. I’m--”

His voice cracks and Mrs. Holland’s face twists up as she rubs her hand up his arm.

“I’m so _sorry_.”

He’s crying before he can stop himself. Mrs. Holland lets him.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she says. “Thank you. It’s okay.”

But it’s not. It’s not okay.

Steve doesn’t know how to _say_ that. So he doesn’t.

-*-

The wake is at Steve’s. His parents are out of town; haven’t really been _in town_ since he started school. Not even when he was living at the dorms freshman year.

Steve’s got the place. Tommy’s got the booze. Carol and Nancy bring food. Jonathan’s got the weed.

So, when Billy Hargrove shows up on his doorstep, Steve’s not sure _exactly_ what he’s got until he holds up a big plastic baggy full of munchies and a bunch of cassettes dangling from his finger, leaning in Steve’s doorway with a black shirt unbuttoned to the navel and a grin that could make panties drop. “Tommy told me to bring some tunes.”

“Oh, he _did_ , did he?” Steve asks, arms crossing over his chest. “Nice of him to invite people over to _my_ house.”

“I think he’s just trying to bring some levity to the evening. Maybe a distraction or two.” Billy says, tilting his head. “You gonna invite me in, pretty boy?”

“Do you _need_ an invitation?”

Billy’s grin widens, and he looks away, tongue in his cheek. “I usually like to wait for one, yeah.”

Steve’s gaze darts over him, but then he steps aside. “Then by all means… come in.”

And then Billy’s walking into Steve’s house like he _owns_ the place. Greeting all of Steve’s friends like it’s _truly_ a party and not them all getting fucked up, trying to forget how sad they are.

Steve shuts the door with a little more force than necessary.

“Drinks!” Tommy crows, holding out his dad’s glass tumblers, liquor near full to the top and threatening to spill. “Hargrove, get your ass over here.”

Billy seems happy to oblige, striding over to Tommy to grace him with his presence.

Steve sighs. Of _course_ Tommy would add another distraction to the list tonight -- but Steve _wishes_ it could’ve been something stupid like a game of _truth or dare_ that they’re too old for, and not inviting _Billy Hargrove_.

But it is what it is. Billy’s _here_ now. Tommy invited him here and then Steve invited him in.

There’s no getting rid of him.

So Steve takes the-- way too _full--_ glass that Tommy passes him, takes a big swallow, and sits beside Nancy and Jonathan on the couch. Carol beckons Tommy over with a curl of her finger. And Billy--

Billy makes himself _at home_.

Puts a cassette in the player by the TV. Bobs his head as some rock tune starts playing. Steve thinks it’s CCR. He watches as Billy thumbs through the records on the shelves. Fingers skimming over _everything_. Hands big, touch deft, rings glinting in the dim light.

Steve looks away.

“So,” Tommy says. “We got the drinks. We got the tunes. We got the food. Johnny boy?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jonathan sighs, digging around in his coat pocket and pulling a baggy free. “Keep your pants on.”

Tommy grins. “You like it when I take ‘em off.”

Steve takes another big drink. “Save it for later, Tommy. The pool’s heated, remember?”

“Be still, my beating heart.” Tommy presses a hand to his chest, cackling. “Skinny dipping with Steve Harrington. Am I flush? Carol, I feel flush.”

Steve hides a grin, eyes flitting to Billy and find that blue gaze on him. “Eat a dick, Tommy.”

“I, for one,” Billy says, “wanna see just how far those freckles go.”

Like it’s _nothing_. Like he’s just idly curious. Like that’s just _something_ people _say_.

“I _like_ this guy,” Tommy says.

Carol groans, head lulling back against the loveseat. “Oh, we _know_ , Tommy. I’m surprised you haven’t said his _name_ while _fucking me_ , yet--”

“Carol!”

Steve and Nancy dissolve into laughter. Jonathan nearly snorts up his beer.

Billy just grins a mile wide and plops down on the floor in the middle of their little party. He _should_ look awkward on the floor, but of course he doesn’t. He looks more comfortable there than anyone else does sitting on the couch.

Steve wouldn’t be surprised if Tommy slid off the couch to join him. Honestly, he gives it, like, five minutes.

“Nice digs you got here, Harrington,” Billy says, attention undivided on Steve.

“Good ol’ mom and pop’s place,” Tommy says for him, with just the right amount of bitterness, and Steve raises his glass in the mockery of a cheer.

“What he said.”

Billy hums. “Still, you’ve got a pool and a yard that looks like it backs onto the woods. Worth enjoying, huh?”

“I mean, sure.” Steve shrugs. “It’s nice. Fun to walk out there, especially during the winter.”

Tommy waggles his fingers. “ _Super fun_ out there right now, possible murderer on the loose and all that.”

“Yeah, I think I heard something about that,” Billy says. “Some guy from that Department of Energy building, right?”

“Right. Don’t got too many details, honestly.” Tommy bobs his head, tipping it back and swallowing the rest of his glass down. “But the body was found, like, two weeks ago. Some construction worker, I think.”

Steve nods. “One of the contractors, working late. Head bashed in; practically mummified.”

Steve blinks when Nancy raises her brow at him.

“What?”

“That’s a lot of detail that didn’t make it into the paper.”

“Hop and I talk, sometimes, when I look after Jane on night shifts.” Steve says.

“What else did he tell you?” Billy asks, leaning forward on his knees, all ears.

“Not much more than that,” Steve says. “Just that-- he put up a bit of a fight, I guess. There were bruises, like he was bound, and he fought against it. But they didn’t find any rope. He told me before we all-- well, _before_ \-- and I asked if I could see the pictures. Hop said no.”

Which is a lie. The only lie. Hop said _yes_.

Probably because he wanted to scare that curious gleam out of Steve’s eyes. Probably because Hop knew Steve was thinking about finally settling on a criminology degree.

Steve still remembers them. The body, shriveled up and covered in vines, jaw hanging open in a silent scream. It makes his stomach turn.

“Jesus,” Nancy says, face twisted up, lips pursed. “Can we change the subject, please?”

“Aren’t you scared?” Billy asks, pressing on, blue eyes stuck on Steve. “So close to the woods, and all?”

“No?” Steve frowns, glancing out the glass to his backyard. “I mean, no. I don’t think so?”

Jonathan scoffs, rolling a joint on the thick, flat arm of the couch and licking it shut. “Don’t take his indecisiveness to heart. He’s afraid of everything except what he _should_ be.”

Tommy grins. “He’s a _runner_.”

“Fuck you,” Steve says, downs his drink, and holds out his glass. “C’mon, asshole. And I better get the first hit.”

“Are you saying he _should_ be afraid of the woods?” Billy asks, gaze now on Tommy.

“I mean, _yeah_. Probably. There’s, like, a _killer_ out there.” Tommy says, plucking up Steve’s glass and refilling it for him.

Steve takes the joint after Jonathan lights it. Pulls on it and breathes deep. Holds it. Exhales slow and sinks back against the couch and against Nancy as Tommy hands him a full tumbler.

“Guess you're right,” Billy says. “Maybe not the best time to have a house that backs up to the woods, huh?”

Steve shrugs. “Maybe.”

Carol huffs. “Would you pass that already?”

Steve grins, lopsided and sweet, takes another drag before reaching over for Carol to take it.

From the floor, Billy watches Carol toke and then breathe out into Tommy’s mouth, grin wide on his face like some kind of voyeur. Steve thinks it's kinda gross. Billy just -- presses in to other people’s space and makes himself comfortable there. No one should be _nearly_ as charmed by it as they are.

Carol passes the joint to Tommy, who of _course_ passes it to Billy when he's done. And then Billy crawls over on his knees to Nancy, holding it out like some kind of proposal.

Nancy takes it with a small smile and a soft _thanks._ Pulls long and slow and tips her head toward Jonathan.

Steve looks away before he can watch him kiss the smoke from her lips. They've been broken up for years, but sometimes it's hard to look right at them because sometimes Steve still _wants_.

Nancy. Jonathan. It doesn't matter.

But when Steve looks away, all there is-- is Billy.

Billy and his slow grin and his burning, bright blue eyes.

Steve clears his throat, pushes to his feet, and gestures to the back door with his head. “I'm gonna get some air.”

Tommy snorts. “You want company, smoking that pack of yours?”

“Just smoke in here, Steve!” Carol says.

Steve takes out the pack and shakes it. “Different kind of smoke, sweetheart. Doesn't come out of cushions.”

He steps out, into the September chill. Leaves the door open behind him as he taps out a cigarette. Pads over to one of the deck chairs, sets his glass on the table, and lights up. From in the house, The Hollies start playing. Steve thinks it's _Long Cool Woman._

It plays, and then it ends, rolling into something new. Another few songs play out before Steve loses his solitude.

It's, of course, not Nancy or even Jonathan who joins him outside. But Billy, instead.

“Can I bum one?” Billy says, flopping down on a chair next to Steve's.

Out here, he's a little quieter. A little less flashy, a little less bright.

Steve gives him one because it’s probably better than being alone. Watches him light up even as his own cigarette hangs from his lips.

He waits for Billy to fill the silence with words, to try and take up all the space in between them. He waits for the inevitable _noise_.

It never comes.

Billy just flops himself back on the chair and tilts his head up to the sky, leaving Steve to trace his jawline with his eyes. Steve pulls slow, breathing out slower, unwilling to stop looking even though he knows he’ll get caught any second.

Steve revels in the quiet, though. Sinks into the dull hum of music and the shift of the trees in the easy breeze. The night finally brought the autumn chill, and Steve soaks it in.

Billy is nearly still as a statue under Steve's gaze, just slowly breathing in, and then out. In, and then out. Steve lets himself fall into the calming pattern of it: the rustling of the trees, the beat of Billy's breath, the thrum of the music.

Eventually, Steve's eyes trail up toward the sky, following the twirl of smoke from Billy's lips. The sky tonight is bright and clear, stars abounding overhead.

When he looks back down, Billy's gaze is on him.

For a moment, all Steve can do is stare back.

But then he’s shifting, kicking his feet up onto the lounger, tapping ashes onto the pavement, and looking away. His face is warm, he knows; his ears, too. He thinks he sees Billy grin out of his periphery.

“So. You’ve got good taste.” Steve says, gesturing over his shoulder to the sliding glass doors. “I haven’t heard a song I hate, yet.”

“‘Course I got great taste. Tell me something I _don't_ know, pretty boy.”

And the thing is, Billy actually sounds like he wants Steve to do just that. When Steve looks over, Billy's eyes are still on him. _Waiting_.

Steve’s throat works. “Well… what do you _want_ to know?”

“Something I don't know.”

Like it's _obvious_.

Steve huffs out a breath, grin wry. “Okay. Um… Did you know that the world’s biggest living organism is a tree colony in Colorado?”

Billy smiles.

“Try again, pretty boy.”

“Jeez. Uh… because of the natural sugar, apples are better at waking you up in the morning than coffee.” Steve says, brow pinching. “And they contain small traces of arsenic.”

“Fruits can be dangerous.” Billy smiles, but doesn't elaborate. “Tell me something about _you_ ,” Billy says. “You're a mystery.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Steve’s nose scrunches up, because that sounds like a _line_ , but he glances over and meets Billy’s eyes-- arrested, suddenly, by the curiosity there. “My favorite color is blue.”

“See?” Billy says, and he looks genuinely _pleased_. “I didn't know that.”

“Of course, you didn’t. You hardly know me.” Steve shrugs, killing his cigarette and stamping out the embers in the crystal ashtray from his dad’s study he’s been leaving out here for just this occasion. “And I hardly know _you_. So. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Billy hums. The sound blends into all of it -- the rhythm of the trees and the music and the night. It’s kinda _nice_ \-- so far away from Billy’s usual brash vibe -- but maybe that’s just the weed talking. Or maybe the booze.

“Did you know that deer sometimes eat meat?” Billy asks, taking one last long drag on his cigarette before putting it out next to Steve’s.

Steve's nose wrinkles up again. “They do _not_.”

“They absolutely do. So do horses. Usually it’s birds that they chow down on, but sometimes other things, like carcasses.”

“Oh, my _god._ Why do you _know_ that?”

“Because I’ve seen it,” Billy says with a shrug, like that’s a _totally normal_ thing to have witnessed.

Steve huffs. “Okay. Well. I definitely didn't know that. But that does _nothing_ to help me know you. Other than maybe telling me you're kinda fucked up.”

“My favorite color is red,” Billy says. “Didn’t know you were all that interested in knowing _me_ , pretty boy. But I guess you just like to play hard to get, huh?”

Steve whole _face_ goes flush.

“I'm not playing hard to get,” Steve says.

Billy _laughs_. His head tips up to the sky, his jawline goes a little sharp, and he grins, wide, laughing so loud it nearly echoes through the woods beside them. It’s _really_ not that funny, but Billy’s _gone_ anyway, cackling away like a hyena, presumably at how red Steve’s gotten, even in the low blue light from the pool.

“God, you’re easy,” Billy says, when he settles a little, when he winds down.

“And you're an asshole. Color me surprised.” Steve plucks his glass up and takes a long pull.

“You were supposed to be telling me things I _don’t_ know,” Billy says.

He pulls out a pack of his own cigarettes out of a jacket pocket. Of _course_ he’d bum one of Steve’s even though he had his own. Of _course_.

Steve doesn’t expect Billy to offer him an already lit cigarette in an easy pass, though. Hadn’t noticed him pull out two, hadn’t noticed him light up two, either. Too busy trying _not_ to pay attention to big bad Billy Hargrove.

“Well _take_ _it_ ,” Billy says. “It’s already lit and it’s not like I’m gonna smoke two at _once_.”

Which -- he _would_. Steve has zero doubts about that.

Sighing, Steve reaches out, plucking the cigarette from his fingers without touching them. He sits up, swinging his legs around, and squints at Billy as he breathes out smoke. Clouding his profile; making him hazy, like a dream, and his head swims a little at the rush.

“I'm an only child,” Steve tells him. “But not for lack of trying.”

“I come from a big family,” Billy says after a little while, after their cigarettes start to dwindle, but doesn’t elaborate. “We could go back inside,” he offers. “Or we could smoke _my_ weed, which is probably better than anything your friends have got.”

Like magic, Billy’s got a join in his fingers, holding it up like an offering to Steve.

Steve squints at him again. “If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to get in my pants.”

Billy laughs again, teeth bright in the light of the pool. They glint in the dark and Steve can’t help but think, again, of that fox in the woods, caught in the light of Steve’s flashlight. Teeth, so sharp.

He probably _shouldn’t_ be out here in the dark with a stranger, so close to the woods, but he is anyway.

“Are you refusing my offer, pretty boy? I promise you, it’s better than anything you’ve ever had.”

Steve thinks he means something else. Something _darker_.

It makes heat rush through him. Like a flood. Pooling in his gut.

“Not refusing. Just trying to guess your angle.” Steve says. “What do you want in return for your grade-A, never-had-better, top notch weed?”

“I have to want something?” Billy asks, all faux-innocent. Like he doesn’t know that’s how the world works. Like he’s trying to trick Steve into thinking everything is _free_. That something can be just given in good will.

Sure, Steve doesn’t _know_ Hargrove _,_ but he knows him well enough to know that he doesn’t do _anything_ in _good will_.

“You don't have to,” Steve says. “But you do.”

“Maybe I just want your company,” Billy says. He finishes off his cigarette and stubs it out. “Since you seem so disinclined to give it to me, it must be worth asking for.”

“I wouldn't go that far,” Steve says. “And you have my company, now.”

“True,” Billy says, as he lights up the joint and takes in a long pull. “But you’ve been practically clawing your way away from me since we met, so.”

Steve sighs, holding out his hand. “Fine. Give it.”

“ _Bossy_ ,” Billy says, just _staring_ at Steve for a moment before grinning again, wide. “I like it.”

Perhaps to show his appreciation, Billy finally does pass the joint over, fingers brushing against Steve’s as he does.

Steve takes it. Trepidation in his fingers and his bones. He can't bring his eyes from Billy's as he pulls, smoke dank and _sweet_ , on his tongue. Heavy in his lungs.

“Jesus,” Steve shudders, slumping back. “That's really fucking good.”

“Told you,” Billy says, just watching Steve, not even grabbing for it back. Just admiring. “Wait till it hits you.”

“What's it gonna do? Make me taste color and smell sound?” Steve asks, grin a little softer, taking another, smaller hit before holding it back out.

He knows better than to over do it. Especially with weed from a practical stranger.

“Nothing quite so crazy,” Billy says, and then takes it back to take his own drag. “It'll just make you feel real good. Promise, pretty boy. I'd never lead you astray.”

Steve laughs. “Why does that sound like the biggest lie I've heard yet?”

Billy grins and passes the blunt back to Steve.

“Smart boy,” Billy says.

Steve scoffs. “That's a first.”

He lets Billy watch him drag this time. Even makes a show of it; tilts his head back, lets his eyes go heavy, stretches as he breathes out _slow._

“Alright. You're turn, Hargrove.” Steve gestures to him. “Tell me something I don't know.”

“Do you know you've got pretty eyes?” Billy says, like that's not the _worst_ line in the book.

“Do I?” Steve asks around a mouthful of smoke, dubious as he leans forward to pass the joint back, batting his lashes. “How pretty?”

“Real pretty,” Billy says, fingers brushing against Steve’s as they take the joint back. “Prettier than a sunset, prettier than all the stars in the sky.”

And he’s _gotta_ be kidding, right? Like, with the way he’s grinning, with the way he takes a long drag in and then blows the smoke out, slow, right toward Steve, fogging up the space between them. He’s _gotta_ be. It’s like -- the _worst line_ ever.

“Okay. I'll bite.” Steve says, a little slow, fingertips tingling as he rests forward, elbows on his knees.

He thinks maybe that was a mistake. It brings him too close to that blue stare, to that sharp grin. Makes him realize his insides are quaking, bones warm and humming, every move and stretch like its very own sensation.

He feels _good_. _So_ good.

He feels like crawling into Billy Hargrove's space and licking the smoke out of his mouth-- if only to get another hit and to get that smug look off his face.

Steve sips his drink, mouth watering. “What are you _after_ , Billy Hargrove, talking me up like this? To see if I'll cry _queer_ and run for the hills? Or to see if I'm interested?”

Billy’s eyes go dark. Or maybe he just moves out of the light as he leans in closer, getting right up into Steve’s space as he moves to mirror Steve’s body, face only inches away from Steve’s.

So close that Steve can feel Billy’s _breath_.

“Are you?” Billy asks.

Before Steve can _clarify_ , can ask if Billy means is Steve _interested_ or is he gonna _cry_ _queer,_ Tommy’s voice breaks through the silence of the back yard.

“ _Stevie boy!_ We _miss_ you inside!”

“You always miss me,” Steve pulls back, sits up slow, so that he can smile over at Tommy.

Tries to ignore Billy still leaned close, still staring right at his profile.

It doesn't work very well.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Tommy says, leaning there as Carol giggles on the chair behind him. “Come _inside._ We're gonna play two truths and a lie, and you're the only one I can _beat_.”

Glancing back at Billy, Steve shrugs. “Sorry, Hargrove. Looks like our time is up.”

“What, you don’t want the rest of this weed?” Billy asks, blowing another stream of smoke at Steve’s profile. “I’m sure _Tommy_ would be interested,” Billy says, a little too low for anyone else but Steve to hear.

It _shouldn’t_ make Steve’s gut twist, but it does. Just a _little_.

But Steve swallows it down. Bites it back.

Sees the way Billy is just _waiting_ for him to give.

“I think I'm good,” he says, and risks reaching out, risks taking Billy's hand in his, risks guiding the blunt pinched between Billy's fingers to his lips for _one last hit_ \-- and then pulls back. “But if you think Tommy would do it for you, then by all means.”

And then Steve pushes to his feet, watching the way Billy's jaw goes _tight._ Watching the way Billy doesn't look away from him.

It's kind of heady. A bit terrifying. But that might just be the weed.

But as they all go inside, following Steve like _ducklings_ , Steve can't help but notice that Billy doesn't offer Tommy any weed. He just stubs the joint out and tucks it back into his pocket or wherever he’d been keeping it -- for later. Not for sharing with anyone else apparently.

Steve tries not to feel so _satisfied_ by that.

“So. Two truths and a lie?”

-*-

Steve wakes.

His head feels heavy. Skin _warm._ He's shaking, trembling in the cold.

Above him, there are trees reaching toward a night sky without any stars.

For a long time, all he can do is _look_. He knows where he is. He's been here before.

Beneath him, the earth _breathes_.

Steve jerks when he hears the scream. Shoves up, feet bare, jeans torn. There's blood on his hands, under his nails.

It's dark. He doesn't have to see to _know_.

He walks. He walks, he walks, he _walks_. Feels the ground give beneath his feet, dead leaves and wet dirt. Feels like any second he might sink in and never come loose.

There's nothing but the moon when he makes it to the bluffs. Heavy and big in the starless sky.

Barb stands there, her back to him.

Steve reaches out. He wants to pull her away from the edge. Wants to pull her tight and beg for forgiveness. Opens his mouth. There's nothing but cicadas screaming.

His fingers touch Barb’s sweater. It's wet. Just like the rest of her.

It hasn't rained in two weeks.

Barb falls.

Face first, without looking back, she falls.

Steve's voice is a shock. He'd thought he'd lost it completely. Thought the forest ate it up.

He wants to go after her. To follow her into the water. To feel his bones shatter on impact. To hear his scream deafened by water.

Someone catches him and the world goes sideways.

-*-

Steve wakes.

There's a wet gurgle of a gasp. Steve only knows this brick building by name. Only knows the trees, broken and pitted and shattered, by the pictures in the papers.

His feet are bare. His hands are clean. His jeans are untorn. His heart is pounding in his ears.

The gurgling wanes into a keening, helpless groan.

He looks. He can't help but look.

There's a man Steve doesn't know. A man with vines worming and twisting into his mouth, his ears, his nose, his eyes.

Steve drops to his knees. Hears something catch. Feels it rip.

He reaches out, tears at the vines, and blood pours from them like their open veins. Pours over his hands, down his arms, sputters up and catches him across his face.

The man chokes, sobs, coughs up the blood he's drowning in.

“ _M’sorry. M’sorry.”_ Steve hisses, slurs, _sobs_. “M’ _trying.”_

There are vines around his neck. Steve hears the _snap._ Hears it echo in his head. Gasps as the man goes still, still, _still._

Steve drops his hands.

Somewhere, he hears a fox scream. Behind him, something stands, shadow long even in the dark. Steve feels needles along his nape.

The shadow reaches up, _up_. Like broken branches in a starless sky.

Something cold, cold, _cold_ reaches out. Touches him. Makes him _quake._

The body sinks into the earth. Sinks in like he won't come loose.

-*-

Steve wakes.

-*-

Hopper can't stomach this one.

Could barely stomach the first one. But this-- _this_.

It's worse.

Still, he takes out his notepad as his deputies rope off the area. He's still waiting on Dr. Owens to arrive.

He's not sure what the good doctor will say. Not to this-- a body, half rotten, half buried in the earth, eyes bulging and bloodied.

Hopper feels sick.

“Callahan!” He barks, and doesn't hold it against him when Callahan goes still but doesn't _face_ him. “Get me whoever's running this _shit show_ of a construction site. We're shutting them down.”

Callahan nods, looks back, goes a little pale. “Right away, Chief.”

-*-


	2. holy darkness got ahold of me

-*-

“You got _trashed_ , Stevie.” Tommy tells him, grinning, but voice soft as he rubs circles into Steve's back and Steve clings to the toilet, head throbbing.

There's something. At the back of his head. He thinks he's supposed to remember it.

Everytime he tries, he feels like vomiting up his lungs.

“It's okay. Nancy and Carol are curled up in your guestroom hiding from the light.”

Steve gives him a thumbs up.

“Billy's making breakfast.”

Steve turns his thumb _down_.

Tommy cackles. Way too loud. Steve groans and presses his cheek to cool porcelain.

When he finally does make it into the kitchen, Billy Hargrove is standing in front of the stove in Steve’s mother’s floral apron, flipping pancakes. Banana and blueberry and plain, it looks like.

Steve _wishes_ Billy looked stupid doing it, _wishes_ he looked anything other than _at home_ in the kitchen, comfortable and confident wherever he seems to be. Back in high school, Steve and Tommy would’ve made fun of something like this -- probably still would, now -- but Billy looks like it wouldn’t even be worth the effort, like it wouldn’t even phase him one bit.

Steve kind of feels like an idiot for even _thinking_ about it, which says a lot.

Jonathan’s at the counter island nursing a cup of coffee. Tommy looks like he’s already on his second. Maybe his third.

When Steve sits down next to Jonathan, there’s suddenly a cup of coffee in front of him, slid straight into his field of vision. When Steve looks up, he’s not surprised to see Billy leaning on the other side of the island, smiling big. Looking no worse for the wear.

“Morning, sunshine,” Billy says.

It's a little _unfair._ Billy looks so _collected._ Like the amount of booze they drowned their sorrows in last night wasn't even a blip on his radar.

It's a little unfair because Steve woke up with his throat raw and his hands shaking and he _knew_ it meant he had a nightmare but he couldn't _remember it._

What he _does_ remember is Billy, last night, by the pool. Looking at Steve like he was something to take apart. He remembers Billy, cross legged, on the floor of his living room, listening to every truth and every lie out of Steve's mouth like it was something worth _remembering_ at all.

Curling his fingers around the mug, Steve pulls it closer. “Morning.”

“It’s a full moon,” Billy says, apropos of absolutely _nothing_ , and then goes back to flipping pancakes.

“Great,” Jonathan mutters. “All the crazies come out on the full moon.”

Steve looks at him. “So we're having a night out on the town?”

Billy just hums. “No, that’s probably why you didn’t sleep well.”

He _doesn’t_ say _that’s probably why you had nightmares_ , but Steve can see it in his eyes. That knowing look, that _understanding_ about the dark circles under his eyes. He feels exposed, suddenly, laid bare.

“Right,” Steve says, into the tepid heat of his coffee, draining half the mug in one go.

Tommy claps him on the shoulder.

“Still, you know I'm always down for a party,” he says.

“Let's see if I survive my hangover.”

“Are you free tonight, Hargrove?” Tommy asks, hand still on Steve’s shoulder, like he _knows_ that somehow Steve’s inclusion will sweeten the deal.

“For friends?” Billy says, “I’m always free.”

He picks up a pancake and chomps into it, teeth tearing into soft bread.

_Friends?_ Steve mouths at Jonathan.

Jonathan rolls his eyes. Tommy squeezes at him.

“I might just stay in,” Steve says. “I have a lot to catch up on, still.”

“Hunt here tells me you used to be king of Hawkins,” Billy says, taking a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking briefly over to Tommy as he stares Steve down. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Don't hold your breath,” Steve says, elbowing Tommy. “That's an outdated moniker.”

“Is it?” Billy asks at the same time that Tommy reaches over and messes with Steve’s hair and says: “No way. You’re definitely still a dick.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Steve ducks away from his touch. “I am not. Sometimes. Mostly.”

“I think you’re kinda a dick,” Billy says, helpfully. “I like it.”

Of _course_ he does.

But he slides a plate full of pancakes over to Steve, which _kind of_ makes up for it. He gives one to Jonathan and one to Tommy, too.

Before he can even ask for it, there's butter and syrup placed in front of him. He drowns his pancakes in both and digs in and _hates_ how perfect it tastes.

Tommy seems to agree. “Where have you _been_ all my life, Hargrove?”

“Waiting for you in your dreams,” Billy says with a wink, teeth closing around his own fork as he stands on the other end of the island.

“Seriously, this is like the _best_ hangover cure.” Tommy says.

Jonathan grunts his agreement.

“The only thing missing is bacon,” Steve concedes.

“You didn’t have any in the freezer. I looked,” Billy says. “Next time, I’ll make sure to bring some.”

_Next time_ , Steve thinks with a frown. Too presumptuous, too confident. Steve gets the feeling that now that Billy’s _here_ it’s going to be nearly impossible to get rid of him.

He almost has a mind to say that. To ask. To needle until that same heat Billy looked at him with last night returns.

He doesn't get a chance because his phone starts ringing.

Tommy picks it up because he's closest, mouth full, grin crooked. “Harrington residence.”

Instantly, he frowns and winces away.

“Okay, okay.” Holding out the receiver, he waggles it at Steve. “It's for you.”

Steve takes it. “Hello?”

“ _Steve!”_ Dustin breathes. “ _Have you heard?”_

“Heard what?”

“ _They found another body.”_

“What?” Steve frowns.

“They found what?” Tommy asks, from right next to Steve, leaning in and only catching a few words.

Steve shoves him away.

“ _They found another body. In the woods_ ,” Dustin says. “ _Said it was really weird again, ‘mysterious circumstances’ or whatever_.”

Steve's mouth turns sour. “ _What?_ What do you mean?”

“ _Dunno all the details_ ,” Dustin says. “ _Just that it was all decayed, like the first. Apparently the guy went missing_ last night _though, which is, like, impossible_.”

“Another body,” Tommy says, to Billy and Jonathan. Steve shoves him again.

“Okay, I'll talk to Hop, but you little shitheads need to _stay out of it.”_ Steve says.

“ _But--"_

_“_ And _stop_ listening to that police scanner.”

“ _Will you come over and tell me what you found out?”_ Dustin asks.

“I'll think about it,” Steve sighs, running a hand over his face, and there's something _fuzzy_ in his head-- something pressing behind his eyes.

He tells himself it's the hangover.

“ _Okay. Stay safe. The guys and I are gonna go out tonight--"_

“Absolutely _not.”_

“Bye, Steve!” Dustin says -- and then hangs up on him.

“So, another body?” Billy says, filling in the silence of Steve’s anger and sudden nausea.

“Uh. Yeah.” Steve's throat works, and he pushes to his feet. “Excuse me for a second.”

He's really not all that hungry anymore. Especially not with the knowledge that the kids-- though, they're barely that anymore-- are going out into the woods tonight.

He finds himself in his room, at the center of it, completely lost.

It’s not hard to imagine the forest around him, tall trees suddenly rocketing upward from the carpet, walls and windows disappearing, the sounds of his house transformed into the quiet of the woods. He doesn’t even need to close his eyes, but he does anyway, completely surrounding himself in it, the smell of autumn in his nose, the soft crunch of dead leaves underneath his feet.

It’s daytime, at least, in his daydream. Not night, not like when Barb died or -- maybe he dreamed of this place, too. Distant and misty and not quite tangible. He remembers, now. At least a little bit.

He's shaking when someone comes knocking. Not quite shivering, but close.

He turns and isn't surprised, exactly, that it's Billy.

“Tommy sent me on sick duty,” he says, shoulder against the jamb of Steve's door, leaning there like he belongs-- but maybe knowing better than stepping in.

“I'm fine,” Steve says.

“You look like you’re gonna be sick,” Billy says. He leans into the room a little bit, craning his head to look at Steve’s en-suite. Like he’s judging the distance, if necessary. “I’ll try not to take that as an insult to my pancakes.”

“I'm not gonna be sick,” Steve sighs. “And even if I was, it has nothing to do with your pancakes or with you.”

Billy takes one step into Steve’s room. The illusion of the forest fades back into Steve’s imagination. Billy takes another, and then another. Slow, like he’s gonna _spook_ Steve. Slow, like how Steve approached that trapped fox, except Steve isn’t baring his teeth at Billy -- not _now_ , anyway. Not yet.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Billy says, hands in front of him, but still not touching Steve.

“I'm _fine,”_ Steve says.

But he's not. Not really. He's _exhausted._ Shaking.

Suddenly, there’s warm hands on his shoulders. Pushing him back and back and back, until the back of Steve’s legs hits his bed. Until he’s sitting, with Billy standing in front of him.

Then, Billy’s crouching, and all Steve can see are those blue, blue eyes.

“You alright, pretty boy?”

“I'm hungover,” Steve says, but there's something in his gut, churning and black like tar.

There's something he should _remember._

“You look like you just watched _The Exorcist_ or something.”

“ _The Thing_ is worse,” Steve says, almost like a reflex, and he buries his face in his hands.

Billy crouches down in front of Steve. It takes him a second to realize that Billy’s actually on his _knees_ , staring up at Steve with a concerned look.

“You’re okay, Harrington,” Billy says.

And Steve-- Steve doesn't _understand_ him. Doesn't know where he's coming from or _why_.

But he also doesn't really _care_ , right now, either.

“You barely _know_ me,” he says, like a refrain for their entire relationship so far. “How do you know whether or not I'm okay?”

“Because you’re right here. Because you’re alive. Because you’re safe. Seems pretty okay to me.”

Steve stares at him for a second. “No one's ever _safe_ , Billy. Not really.”

Billy tips back a little on his heels, getting comfortable. “In what way? From, like, _death_?”

“Sure. From death. From anything, really.” Steve shrugs and then sits up. “But you're right. I'm fine.”

“I’ll protect you, pretty boy,” Billy says, sounding so _sure_. Another one of his _stupid lines_ \-- but it does make Steve laugh, does break some of the ice settling in his gut.

“Yeah, okay. And how are you at teenager wrangling?” Steve asks, already knowing no one would want to spend their evening traipsing after a bunch of idiots except Steve-- and Barb, when he wanted the company enough to ask for it.

Billy laughs, like he doesn’t actually _believe_ Steve. “You actually asking for my company?”

“Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

“Who can’t wrangle a few kids?” Billy says.

“No one but me, the chief of police, and Joyce Byers.” Steve says. “And even that's hit or miss.”

“Yeah,” Billy laughs, “we’ll _see_ about that.”

-*-

“You don't need to babysit us anymore, you know.” Dustin grumbles and Lucas is already rolling his eyes.

“You're going into the woods after two bodies have turned up. _Apparently_ , I do.”

“Dude, I told you not to tell him.” Lucas says, pointing at him, light flashing in Steve's eyes and practically blinding him. “And he brought _this_ weirdo--"

“Sinclair, get that light out of my face before I beat your ass.”

Through all of this, Billy stays quiet. Trailing along a couple steps behind Steve like a shadow.

“What’s his name?” Will asks Steve, after Steve thwacks Dustin on the back of the head and tells him to shut _up_.

“Billy,” Steve says. “He's here to help me make sure you dumbasses don't get hurt. Where's Janey and Mike?”

“Hop caught wind,” Lucas says. “Kept Jane in. You know Mike.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah. I know Mike.”

Where Jane goes, Mike goes.

He trails after them for a bit, Billy a quiet weight at his side. Steve's skin is buzzing.

He doesn't want to be out here.

“The curly headed big mouth is Dustin. Will is the only good one of the bunch. Lucas is our token minority.” Steve tells Billy, to distract himself, grinning as Lucas flips him off and calls him a _greasy fucking wop_ ; when Billy looks at him, Steve shrugs. “I'm half Italian.”

“Okay,” Billy says, oddly quiet now that they’re out here in the woods, tromping around in the soft underbrush, leaves rustling and twigs snapping underneath their feet.

For _once_ , Steve wouldn’t mind if Billy was his usual talkative self -- but Billy always seems to do the opposite of what Steve _wants_ him to do, so.

He’s really no help at all.

“What exactly are we out here looking for?” Steve asks, jaw flexing, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“A monster,” Dustin says.

Steve groans at the same time Lucas does.

“It's not a monster,” Will says, smile small.

“Yeah? And how do you _know_ that?” Dustin says.

“It's not rocket science. It's common sense.” Will says.

Lucas nods. “I'm with him. It's just some crazy killer.”

“Or a lab experiment,” Will says with a smirk.

Dustin gasps. “ _What if it's a lab experiment?”_

“Oh, now you got him started,” Lucas rolls his eyes skyward.

“None of those sound good. Or at all like you should be out here _looking_ for it.” Steve tells them.

They’re still walking when Billy falls into step next to Steve, leaning in real close, grin so wide that even Steve can see it in the dim light.

“ _Lab experiment?_ ” he asks, sounding _delighted_.

It’s so easy to forget that Billy isn’t from here, with the way he’s suddenly _around_ all the time, pressing in at all the edges of Steve’s space. That he doesn’t know all of the town’s crazy conspiracy theories. Of which there are _many_.

“From the old lab at the edge of town. Got shut down in the seventies. Guy who ran it started up the energy plant-- but there's all sorts of stories about the place.” Steve says. “Experiments and stuff.”

“ _Human_ experiments,” Dustin crows.

“I'm half convinced that's where Jane came from,” Lucas says, and Will pinches him.

“I thought that the energy plant was expanding,” Billy says. “The paper said that the construction worker was part of a project of theirs.”

“It is,” Will bobs his head.

“I heard they put expansion on _indefinite hiatus_ ,” Dustin says. “But Brenner is making a big stink about it. Steve, did you talk to Hop?”

“Not yet,” Steve says, throat tight. “He's kinda had a busy day.”

“So, what, they closed the lab in the seventies and then -- decided to expand it again?” Billy asks.

As he walks, he bumps his shoulder into Steve’s. Like there isn’t a _whole forest’s_ worth of space around them.

“Different lab,” Dustin says, and Steve inches away from Billy. “The other one was, like, military. The energy plant is a _public_ facility. Completely different contracts.”

“In other words,” Lucas mutters. “The guy's greedy.”

“But the same guy,” Billy says, clarifying.

Jesus, this is the most _boring_ thing Steve’s ever talked about. And here he thought Billy would hate this and duck out _early_.

“Yeah,” Dustin says. “Same guy, same shtick. Two different places.”

Billy is quiet for a bit before he starts Dustin up again, which -- _ugh_.

“So, you think there’s monsters killing people in the forest?” He even meanders a little _closer_ to Dustin, like he’s actually interested, like he’s not just being the dick Steve _knows_ he’s being.

Dustin opens his mouth and Lucas is quick to cover it. “He's deranged.”

“Yeah, and he’s still _here_ ,” Billy says. “So, deranged, maybe. But brave. Can’t argue that.”

Which is not exactly what Steve expected to hear out of Billy’s mouth.

Even behind Lucas’ hand, Steve can tell Dustin's grinning. Like _everyone_ in the world is charmed by Billy. Steve huffs and shoulders by them, Will trotting alongside him.

Once they're ahead a few paces, Will nudges into him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, too fast, he knows. “I'm fine. You?”

“Yeah,” Will says. “I used to play in the woods a lot when I was growing up. I like it out here. It's quiet.”

“I don't think so,” Steve frowns. “It's always _noisy_ when I'm out here. Like everything's _alive_ , you know? Like it's all screaming.”

“Well, I mean _yeah_ ,” Will says. “But once you get past all that. You have to let it fade into the background. Then, it's quiet.”

Steve doesn't think Will understands that he means _actual_ screaming, but he doesn't bother clarifying.

Behind them, Steve can hear Billy goading Dustin on, indulging him.

And it's fine. Walking with them through the woods is fine.

Up until a point.

Up until he sees the moon through the trees. Until he sees the cliffside. Until he feels something in him _recoil_.

He stops. His feet stop moving. Stick in the dirt and _stay there._

Lucas runs into his back.

“Steve, man, what the fuck--?”

“Where are we?” he asks.

“We were following _you_ ,” Dustin says.

And that's enough. It's _enough._

Turning around he catches them both by the scruff. “We're going home. _Now._ ”

“What did you see?” Dustin asks, like Steve saw a _monster_ and had to cover it up.

“ _Hey_ ,” Billy says. “The man wants to leave, we leave.”

“Who even _are_ you?” Lucas asks, siding with Dustin.

“Move it or your ass is grass, Sinclair.” Steve says, pushing him forward, _away_ from the bluffs behind them. “I didn't _see_ anything. We're _leaving_.”

“We basically just got out here,” Dustin says, but he's turning, finally, letting Steve guide him back toward safety. “Which means we just _wasted_ our _time_.”

“Were you hoping to see a monster?” Billy asks with a smirk.

“Uh, _yeah_.” Dustin says, arms crossing, and if Steve had been any less _petrified,_ he'd find the pout sort of endearing.

As it is, he _can't._ He just needs to get them _home._

“There are plenty of monsters in the real world,” Steve says. “We don't need to go hunting for any _more_.”

“If there's a serial killer in the woods, we’re probably safe in a group,” Billy says.

Dustin just huffs to himself. “Monsters don't care if you're in a _group_.”

“ _Stop it_!” Steve snaps, voice coming sharp and rough. “That's enough!”

For a moment, there’s blissful silence from everyone. The only noise is the echoing of Steve’s voice in the trees. Fading with each second, each heartbeat, the sound settles and falls onto the forest floor, leaving nothing in its wake. The sound of the kids and Billy breathing around him, all frozen, waiting for Steve.

“Monsters aren’t real,” Lucas says, finally. Slowly. Trying for comfort.

No one else says anything.

Steve's jaw goes so tight he's surprised he doesn't crack a tooth, temples aching as he pushes Lucas and Dustin forward.

“We're going home. That's final.” He says, and he's grateful his voice doesn't shake one bit.

“I need you to know that, Steve. Monsters _aren’t real_.” But Lucas is walking, so Steve doesn’t _care_.

They’re walking for a moment in dead silence before Will says, “Do you _know_ that, though?”

Lucas grunts, like he's _offended._ “Of _course_ I know that--”

“Guys, I know you don't _get it_ , but I really need you to _shut the fuck up_ about this, right now.” Steve says, hands still at the scruff of their shirts, walking just a little _faster_. “Talk about the new games at the arcade, the class you hate at school, _anything_ but what you're talking about right now, _okay_?”

Steve barely even has a second to breathe before Billy’s looping an arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulling him close, which isn’t _easy_ , because the guy isn’t even _taller_ than Steve. It’s the typical kind of move Steve would’ve done to a girlfriend in high school who was a little scared of the dark around a bonfire, but it’s different. Obviously.

“I’ll protect you, pretty boy,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate. “So, tell me about Nancy, huh? You’ve got a real soft spot for her. You two used to date, yeah?”

“Where the fuck is that coming from?” Steve asks, and he doesn't mean for it to sound so _sour_ , but it does.

“What, the fact that I’m trying to make conversation, or the fact that you look at her like you used to be in love?”

And it’s so damn _nonchalant_ that Steve kind of wants to scream.

He shrugs out from under his touch, mouth twisting up. “Not interested in conversation, thanks. I just want to get out of the woods.”

Billy’s quiet for a long moment, like he’s _thinking_ , before he starts up again.

“So, it ended badly,” Billy says, falling back into step beside Steve.

“Here we go,” Lucas says, behind them. Steve can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“Do you _know_ when to stop talking?” Steve asks.

“Way I see it,” Billy says, “you haven’t shut me up yet, so.”

“Well, I'm _telling you_ ,” Steve says, giving him a furtive look. “Stop _talking_.”

“See, from where I’m looking,” Billy says, a little unnecessarily _louder_. “It looks kinda like she broke your heart, maybe.”

His voice is too loud for the woods, too human, too harsh. Steve doesn’t like the way it cuts through the trees; it makes him _edgy_. Like they’re being too obvious, like, absurdly, something out here’s gonna _hear_ them.

“Seriously though,” Lucas stage-whispers. “Who _is_ this guy?”

It's enough to make Steve _stop_. Enough to make him turn and shove at Billy's chest.

“See, from where _I'm_ looking,” Steve sneers. “It looks kinda like you're an _asshole_ who won't _shut up_. You don't know _me_ \-- you don't know anything _about_ me. So back off.”

Steve can see Billy’s eyebrows raise when one of the lights from the kid’s flashlights hits him in the face. He doesn’t even _flinch_ at the blinding light, just licks his lips, teeth barred in a grin.

“ _Oh_ , did I strike a cord, Harrington?” And he sounds so _pleased_ with himself -- and he looks it, too. “But you hang out with her still, right? Just to get salt in the, what, still open wound? That’s a little _sad_ , isn’t it?”

“I'm _not_ talking to you about this,” Steve laughs, bitter and aghast. “What don't you _get_ about that?”

“What I _get_ is that you’re apparently still caught up on your _ex_ ,” Billy says. “When did you break up, a year ago? Two? _More_?”

“High school,” Dustin says.

Steve's fingers curl in. He's not prone to violence-- but, right now, it's _singing_ in his blood.

“This conversation is _done_ ,” he says, turns, and keeps walking.

Billy makes a puzzled noise, a little biting, a little sarcastic. “That’s _funny_ , because I didn’t think _I_ was done talking.”

“Well, I'm done listening.”

“Clearly you are,” Billy says. “Because you’re looking all kinds of flustered, but you’re _still_ not doing anything about it. Maybe this is why she _dumped_ you. Is that it, pretty boy?”

“Oh my god,” Lucas says.

Steve doesn't mean to. He really _doesn't_.

He's just hot. Like _burning up_ , all of a sudden. Like his _brain_ is cooking.

But he's swinging before he can stop himself. Knocking Billy off of his feet. Knocking him on his _ass_ , to the dirt, with one sloppy punch.

It makes his knuckles ache. Makes him hiss and shake out his hand.

The world kind of spins around him in a daze of bright adrenaline.

“Oh, my _god!_ ” Lucas says again, backing up a step and shoving Will back like he means to get him out of the way.

Dustin makes a noise, surprised, and whispers “holy _shit_ ,” as he clambers away, in Lucas’ and Will’s direction.

Billy, for his part, _hoots_. Ass-down on the forest floor, sprawled amongst dead leaves and twigs, he _laughs_. Loud. Delighted.

“Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about,” Billy shouts. “King Steve!”

The beam of Will’s flashlight catches Billy’s face, light illuminating the red drip of blood from his nose. Steve watches, wide eyed, as he licks his lips and smears it over his teeth.

At his side, his hand flexes. Steve shudders.

Then, he moves. Reaches out and grabs Dustin by the wrist and pulls.

“Let's go,” Steve says, horrified and terrified.

Billy’s still on the ground laughing by the time Steve’s taken a few steps away, Dustin still in his grasp.

“Uh,” Dustin says. “Uh, _Steve_ , buddy?”

Dustin stops in his tracks, flashlight pointed directly in front of him.

Not that he needs a light to see what Dustin’s looking at: the gleam of a streetlight, shining through the gap in the trees a hundred yards away.

Steve could’ve _sworn_ they had a good twenty minutes left of walking. At least ten, if they walked _fast_. But it doesn’t _matter_ , because the road is right there, lit by lights and so brutally man-made. So unlike the wild, untamed energy of the woods.

“Thank fuck,” Steve sighs and pushes toward the light, ignoring Billy's laughter as it trails behind him, pushing Dustin toward his beat up little VW when they break through the trees. “Go _home_. If I call your mom and find out you aren't there, I will actually lose it, okay?”

“Okay, Steve.” Will says, before Dustin can try and argue. “Drive safe.”

He watches them climb into Dustin's car. He watches them drive away. He waits until their tail lights are _gone._

Then he pulls out his keys, ignoring Billy, ignoring the way his eyes track him as he stands at the edge of the road where the forest begins, and unlocks his car.

Maybe Billy feels unwelcome in the car. He _should_ , after getting decked in the face.

Steve opens his door.

He bends to get in, eyes catching on Billy, still standing there at the edge of the woods, still as the trunks of the trees around him. It’s unnerving. It sends shivers down Steve’s spine. Steve wants _nothing_ to do with him.

But three people have died in these woods in two weeks. If Steve leaves Billy here -- well, he’s not sure _what_ he would do if Billy turned up dead, but he certainly doesn’t want another death on his hands.

“Get in the fucking car. And _keep_ your mouth _shut_.” Steve says, tearing his eyes from him, looking straight out the windshield as he gets the heat going.

Steve barely even hears Billy get in the car. The guy doesn’t even say a word once he sits down, just makes himself comfortable and drags the back of his hand underneath his nose, smearing the now-sticky blood Steve’s fist left there.

Steve doesn’t need to look to know that he’s grinning, a mile wide.

He keeps his eyes forward, on the road. Keeps his fingers tight over the wheel.

Doesn't speak until they're rolling up on Billy's car.

“Don't come near me again,” Steve tells him; still doesn't look at him. “You can hang out with my friends, but don't come near _me_. Got it?”

“What, you aren’t even going to thank me?”

“For _what_?”

“You walked out of that forest not even a little bit afraid,” Billy says. “You forgot all about it.”

Steve twists, looks at him again, sees the tilt of his head. “Are you trying to say you were distracting me? And that I should be _grateful_?”

“Weird,” Billy says. “Looks like I _am_ doing that. You’re not scared anymore _and_ I let you punch me. Pretty good end to the night, huh?”

Steve _stares_ at him. “Get out of my car.”

Billy looks, decidedly, like he doesn’t want to get out of Steve’s car. “C’mon. You’re not even a _little bit_ grateful?”

“Not even a little,” Steve says, and he's _not_ ; he's just _mad._

Burning with it.

“What, you gonna hit me again, pretty boy?” Billy says, tongue darting over his lips.

“Billy,” Steve says, throat working. “Get out of my car.”

Like he’s _trying_ Steve’s patience, Billy leans forward. “You’re really something when you’re angry, did you know that?”

Steve closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Get. _Out_.”

Billy raises his eyebrows. Grins. “What, no kiss goodnight?”

Steve jerks, shoving into his space, teeth bared even as he catches Billy's mouth with his own. _Bites_ into it. Curls his fingers into Billy's open collar and _yanks_ him closer as he leans over the gearbox.

Billy freezes, body going stiff with surprise. Caught, like the fox in the trap. He tastes like blood and sweat and like the forest, too.

Before Billy can react, before he can shove Steve back, Steve leans forward even more, into Billy’s space as Billy breathes in. Steve gets a hand on the door, yanks it open -- and then shoves Billy backward, straight out the door and onto his ass.

He takes a twisted kind of satisfaction out of the wide eyed look Billy gives him. At the taste of blood in his mouth.

“Goodnight,” he says, a little vicious, and curls his fingers into the door handle, waiting for Billy to get the picture and move his legs so he can shut the door in his face.

He finally does. Swinging his legs out of the car, looking a little like he’s _hurt_ \-- he might be, he _did_ fall ass onto concrete -- but Steve can’t bring himself to care. He reaches out and closes the door in Billy’s face just as Billy says “ _wait_ ,” and then speeds away.

-*-

The next day, Steve goes to the police station. There was nothing useful in the paper, which is absolutely _no help_ and Steve’s got a pack of rabid kids calling him every _ten minutes_ trying to get the scoop.

Like Steve’s a _cop_. Not a barely-passing college student with pretty much zero ties to law enforcement, other than a few brushes with the law when he was back in high school.

But Hop _does_ kinda like Steve, so Steve finds himself at the station _anyway_ , pushing his way past reception and knocking on the chief’s door like they’re _familiar._ Or something.

“Come in,” is the gruff reply.

When Steve pushes the door open, he smiles, a little crooked, and _waves. “_ Uh. Hey, Hop.”

Hopper sighs.

“Harrington. What can I do for you?”

His desk is covered in papers and folders and pictures.

“I just, uh…” Steve holds up a cup, waggles it a bit and everything. “I figured you could use this.”

“Look, I _know_ you’ve got ulterior motives, kid -- but I want that coffee.”

Hop reaches out and Steve puts the coffee into his hand at the same time as he slides himself into one of the chairs in front of Hop’s desk.

“Just-- wanted to some details, if you can share any. There's barely anything in the papers.” Steve admits. “I wanna know if you've gotten any leads. Cuz I'm-- I dunno.”

“Because you’re _nosy_ , Harrington.”

“No, that's-- I mean, _yes,_ but also-- also because I need to know if--” Steve sighs, lie on the tip of his tongue. “Look. I know you said it was an accident. But there's _two_ bodies now. So it wasn't just one, random killing, and-- and what if Barb _wasn't_ an accident. What if she saw something or--"

“Kid,” Hop cuts him off, mouth pressed thin. “Listen, okay? I still think it was an accident. But… but I'm not ruling anything out anymore.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“These murders are… _strange._ Strange in a way I've never _seen_ before, okay?” Hop sighs again and starts tapping out a cigarette. “So, I'm not ruling anything out.”

“So, you think Barb--”

“I think that I don’t know anything anymore, other than what the autopsy showed with Ms. Holland. She died on impact and she didn’t suffer. Now, the _circumstances_ of said impact? I’m not sure.”

“Oh,” Steve swallows, knocking back into his seat, eyes suddenly stinging. “Okay. Um. So. Then, I-- I definitely _need_ to know. Anything, _everything_ you can tell me.”

“It was nothing you did, kid. Hell, I’m just glad the rest of you made it out of there.”

“Hop,” Steve leans forward. “I _need_ to _know_.”

Hop slides him the pictures with a sigh. “I didn’t show you these.”

“Thank you, Hop.” Steve breathes, and his fingers are trembling when he pulls the pictures closer.

He thinks it’s because of Barb. Because Hop all but said Barb might be a _part_ of this all.

But when he sees the pictures-- when he sees the man’s face, bloated and half rotten, sunk into the earth, like it’s reclaiming him-- he feels something twist in his stomach. Feels something pound at the back of his skull. Feels something try and shake loose inside of his marrow.

When he sees the vines, growing and sewing into his skin, he gags and shoves the pictures back.

“Yeah,” Hop says. “They’re -- a lot.”

Hop sighs while Steve tries to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“There’s nothing to say that your friend was connected in any way to either of these cases. Hell, there probably _isn’t_ any connection. But -- I can’t rule anything out.” Hop leans back and drags his hands down his face. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, throat working and then working again. “How--? _How_ , Hop?”

“I don’t know, kid.”

He picks up the photos, looks at them again for a long moment, and then tosses them on his desk again, probably like he’s done over a hundred times before, by now.

“What--? I mean, is there anything I can _do_?” Steve asks.

“What you can _do_ is stay out of the woods. And tell me if you see anything suspicious, alright? We don’t know how this is happening -- if someone’s doing it or if it’s something _environmental_.” Hop says the latter part like someone _else_ suggested that. Like it’s not his words.

Steve frowns. “Something environmental? Like-- Like, what, it’s not actually murder?”

“I don’t _know_ , Harrington. I don’t know how this happened or why it happened. Believe me, I wish I had answers, same as you.”

“Okay,” Steve nods, a little slow. “Okay.”

“I need you to stay out of the woods, alright?” Hop says. “Don’t think I don’t hear those kids on their radios.”

“I will,” Steve says. “I’ll make sure they stay out, too.”

Hop looks at him like he doesn’t believe him.

“I’m not letting them near those woods again, Hop. I promise you that.” Steve says.

Hop sighs. Again. It’s a big and loud thing. Resigned. Fatherly -- or Steve supposes it is. Not that Steve has much experience with that.

“What did you do to your hand, kid?”

Steve looks down at his knuckles. They’re red and a little raw, from where they collided with Billy Hargrove’s face.

He flexes his fingers, mouth twisting up.

“Just got into it with this new guy,” Steve says.

“I thought you were past that,” Hop says.

“I am,” Steve says. “He’s just, uh… This guy’s not good. Like, _at all_.”

And then Hop’s leaning on the desk, eyes sharp on Steve. “What do you mean, _not good_?”

“Not-- not like _that_. Or-- at least I don't _think_ like… that.” Steve frowns down at his hands remembering the way Billy looked at him from the ground, eyes too blue and too hurt considering the way he'd run his mouth. “He's… he's just always trying to get close. Like he wants to crawl right into my skin or something-- acting like he owns the place, like anyone around him is _lucky_ to be there. He's just an asshole who doesn't know when to shut up, Hop.”

Hop’s eyes are still narrowed, and Steve feels a little _bad_ for making the guy draw the comparison. Because sometimes Hopper’s like a dog with a bone -- probably especially when he’s got no leads.

“So, he got too close and you decked him?” Hop asks, like he’s trying to fish for _more_. “Or did he say something that got you mad?”

“Both,” Steve says.

“Why’s he around? Why don’t you just avoid him?”

“Tommy's kinda got this fixation on him. I think he's trying to distract himself from… well, you know how he gets when there's something shiny and new involved.” Steve shrugs, because Hop _does_ know; he dealt with Tommy and Steve in their adolescent prime, when they got up to their most ridiculous bullshit. “Everybody else-- seems to like him? But-- he just rubs me wrong.”

“What does Nancy Wheeler think?” Hop asks.

Probably because while Tommy isn’t the best judge of character, Nancy _is_.

“She thinks he's a bit of a dick,” Steve says. “But not enough to send him packing. I think she kinda likes him. He tends to be pretty charming when she's around.”

“But he's not so charming to you.”

“I think-- maybe he's _trying_ to be?”

“But he missed the mark so hard that you decked him.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “And shoved him out of my car when he wouldn't get out.”

Hopper narrows his eyes for a second and then leans back, quiet. Just looking at Steve.

He opens his mouth -- then closes it. He takes a breath and then lets it out. Then, he says: “You'll tell me if you have any more problems with him.”

It's not a request.

Steve nods again, on reflex, because as violently and immediately as Billy had evoked so much _anger_ in him, he doesn't think Billy will actually be a _problem._

“I will,” Steve says, lying to Hopper's face.

“Alright,” Hop says, sounding a little like he's lying, too. He knows Steve better than that. “Now get out of my office, kid. I've got work to do.”

-*-

In the nights that follow seeing those pictures, _knowing_ something is out there, Steve keeps waking from nightmares he can't remember.

Ones that make him wake gasping and retching. Like there's something in his lungs. Something like _rot_.

He keeps waking to the phantom touch of a hand on his shoulder. To a wisp of a memory, of a shadow towering over him, like claws reaching out to _catch_ him. To a taste of _earth_ and _blood_ and _ash_ on his tongue. To a breath in his ear, voice too hushed to make sense of it.

He's awake and standing at his back door, staring out into the woods, knowing in his heart that something is staring back at him.

-*-

He's been avoiding his friends when he goes to class. It's hard, because they know his hiding spots, but even Nancy doesn't know about the corner at the back of the history section on the third floor of the library.

It's harder because Tommy shares a class with him.

Steve arrives a little late every day to compensate-- at least to history. Finds a seat in the back and ignores the looks Tommy sends him from the front over his shoulder. Ignores Billy Hargrove, sitting right next to him-- in class, at lunch, at the bench under the oak during the lull between his deviant psychology class and his literature section on the Bronte sisters-- looking back with those blue eyes.

Like he's _tracking him_.

Avoids them because he won't stop them from being friends with Billy-- but he won't willingly put himself near him. Told Nancy as much when she called and wouldn't stop calling all week.

“ _We can stop hanging out with him,”_ she'd said.

But Steve had told her no. Because, as much as _Steve_ didn't like Billy, he could tell even from a distance that he was helping ease the ache of a friend too soon lost. At least for them.

So. He avoids them.

Even if it's getting harder every day, the more he doesn't sleep, to not curl up with his head in Carol's lap under the oak while she rants about some new age art movement.

It's raining when his hiding spot in the library is discovered. He's half asleep over a research paper that's going nowhere when the scent of earth and smoke rouse him enough to look up and find Billy standing there.

At first, Steve thinks maybe he's dreaming. Because Billy looks almost tentative, a yellow sprig of tufted flowers in hand, and Steve frowns at it. Wonders, for a second, where he even got fresh flowers at this time of year.

But then Billy's stepping forward, and Steve's back goes stiff, and he jerks into motion, to put his things away and head _home_ \-- rain and his lit class at four-thirty be damned.

But then Billy is setting the sprig down on his open textbook and stepping back, giving Steve _space,_ and Steve blinks at the little yellow flowers. Reaches out and touches them.

“Acacia,” Billy says. “For forgiveness. Among other things.”

Steve rubs his thumb against the blossom. It's soft. Smells _sweet_ , like honey. Rich like his mother's perfume.

“Are you telling me you forgive me for knocking you on your ass and shoving you out of my car?” Steve asks, dry, fingertips touching over the bright, yellow blossoms. “Or are you asking for forgiveness?”

Billy's smile is small, almost secretive. “Maybe a bit of both.”

Steve hums. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

He reaches for the stem, to give it back, and Billy jerks.

“Wait--"

But he's a second too late. The thorns on the sprig prick as his fingers, and Steve pulls back, hissing.

“It’s got thorns,” Billy says, belatedly.

He steps forward, hesitantly, blue eyes on the bit of red welling up on Steve’s hand.

“Yeah, I think I noticed that,” Steve huffs, mouth pressing thin at the sting of it. Which helps, but now Billy’s looking at his _lips_.

For a few days there, Steve forgot he’d even kissed Billy. Not that he can even really _call_ it that -- it was more of a bite, more of a punch -- just not with his fist. It was an attack, a defense, a _get the hell out of my car_. And it had worked and Steve had forgotten -- mostly -- about it.

Except for now. It’s hard to forget, with Billy’s gaze never leaving Steve’s mouth.

“I’m sorry. Now, for that, too,” Billy sighs.

“It's fine,” Steve says, looking away, shifting to get up.

“No, look,” Billy says, keeping his voice sort of low, given that it’s the _library_ and he shouldn’t even be talking at all. “Don’t get up. Don’t _leave_. I’m trying to apologize, not make you -- run away.”

Steve looks at him, hand out, blood pilling at his fingertips and rolling down toward his palm. “I'm _bleeding_ , Billy. I was going to clean up in the bathroom.”

Billy frowns. “You’re only bleeding a little. Put it in your mouth, don’t go wash it off.” Billy sighs _again_ when Steve doesn’t move to do that. “Jesus, just -- would you, _please?_ Saliva heals things faster. Don’t make me put it in _my_ mouth.”

“I'm not gonna put it in my _mouth_ ,” Steve's nose wrinkles up.

“Put it in your mouth,” Billy says again. “It’s just your blood, jesus, Harrington. It’ll stop bleeding.”

“Jesus. _Fine._ ” Steve huffs, lips wrapping around his fingers, sucking them clean.

Which would be _fine_ , but Billy just _watches_ him. Like the creep that he is.

Eventually, Billy raises his eyebrows a little and drops his gaze, just a hair. To the way Steve’s other fingers curl into his hand.

“Did it help?”

Popping his fingers free, Steve squints at them. The bleeding is essentially at a standstill, nothing but the hint of puckered skin there.

“I guess,” he says dropping his hand.

“See?” Billy says.

Then, he plops down into the seat next to Steve. Because _of course_ he does. He doesn’t even have any _books_.

Steve scooches back a little, just to get some breathing room, and he turns his focus back on his paper-- careful to pick up and set the sprig of flowers aside.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Billy _beaming_. He can almost feel it, too, that proud _smugness_ that practically radiates off of Hargrove.

He doesn't _say_ anything and Steve's not _actually_ forgiven him. But he sits there, quiet, as Steve works on his paper.

And Steve lets him.

-*-

Nancy’s finally the one who gets Steve to break.

She lures him on a warm autumn day into lunch at the tables outside of the Commons. Jonathan and Carol are there when he shows up, sandwich and soda in hand. It’s not even a minute before Tommy and Billy show up, bumping against each other and joking like they’re old friends.

It’s simultaneously annoying and nice -- it’s good to see Tommy coping, even if avoidance isn’t the _healthiest_ option. Anyway, it’s not like Steve’s got room to talk on that front, so.

“Stevie!” Tommy lights up when his eyes fall on Steve. It’s a little gratifying, if Steve’s being honest, the way Tommy sidles up to him and drapes an arm over Steve’s shoulders.

Steve tucks into him, smile crooked. “Hey, Tommy.”

“Honey, we _missed_ you.”

Because he’s Tommy, Steve is graced with a lovely wet smack of lips on his temple. Shoving him away with a laugh, Steve scrunches up his face.

“I was trying to avoid your dog breath, jesus.”

“You’re such a charmer, Harrington,” Tommy says, stealing a sip of Steve’s soda.

Billy just sits across the table from him, not saying a word. Just grinning. He probably _would_ have sat next to Steve, had Nancy not been safely tucked against Steve’s other side.

“You love me,” Steve says, hooking into him, laying a kiss of his own to Tommy's cheek.

“What, no kiss for me?” Billy asks, sharklike from across the table.

For a moment, Steve thinks he might bring up the fact that Steve kissed him in the car, but he doesn’t. To everyone, it just sounds like more of Billy Hargrove’s _bullshit_.

“I’ll give you a kiss,” Tommy says. “Been looking for an excuse all this time.”

Steve shifts between Nancy and Tommy. Feels a little hot, under his shirt, under Billy's gaze, and knows it's not just the surprisingly warm day.

“I think I might have to object to that,” Carol says. “Watching you kiss Steve is one thing. Hargrove is another story.”

“I think that’s just because _you_ wanna kiss him, Carol,” Tommy says.

Carol scoffs. “Billy's the kinda guy that would try and eat me alive. I'd much rather make out with Steve.”

Steve grins, leaning forward to catch her wink. “Carol, I might just kiss you for that.”

“Lay one on me,” Carol laughs, puckering up.

He does, just to feel the light smack of Tommy’s hand on his arm. “ _Hey!_ ” Tommy shouts, but he’s laughing, not at all angry.

Next to Steve, Nancy laughs too.

“Now I really _am_ feeling left out,” Billy says. “You really know how to break a guy’s heart, pretty boy.”

Tommy waggles his brows, gesturing between the two of them. “Oh, is _that_ what's going on? Steve is breaking hearts again?”

“Again?” Billy asks, eyebrows up. Playing it up, like he _always_ does. “So I’m not the first?”

“I am _not_ a heartbreaker--"

Tommy tugs his arm around Steve's neck. “This guy has a _reputation._ Girls, _guys_ , all falling, left and right, for that pretty face.”

Steve groans. “Tommy--”

“Well, it _is_ a pretty face,” Billy says. “So, what? Tell me more, Hunt. Color me curious about all the hearts Harrington here is breaking. I wanna know what kinda company I’m keeping. Tell me, am I the best looking?”

“No,” Steve says, at the same time that Tommy and Jonathan do, and the girls frown at them.

Jonathan shrugs when Nancy nudges him. “That red head last year.”

Tommy snaps his fingers. “Ooh, that's a good one. I was thinking about that varsity captain from senior year-- the away game, in Indianapolis.”

Steve sputters, going red, in the face and ears and neck. “You _knew_ about that?”

“Dude gave you _hickies_ , Stevie.”

Across the table, Billy raises his eyebrows. Steve’s not _sure_ what Billy’s thinking, but he looks surprised. At least that’s not unexpected.

“We won the _game_ , didn't we?” Steve asks, picking at his food, and he's not sure-- but he thinks he's a little disappointed, knowing that Billy wasn't actually serious, was just messing around.

“See?” Tommy asks. “Heartbreaker.”

Billy steals a fry off of Tommy’s plate. He chomps down on it and then asks, “Okay, but how does that make him a _heartbreaker_? Did you kiss him and then shove him away, or?”

Steve looks up, sharp, from his lunch. Sees the challenge on Billy's face, like that kiss even _mattered_ \--

“More like slept with him, beat his ass at states, and then ditched him the second it was over.” Tommy says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “It wasn't like he was in love with me.”

“Maybe he was,” Billy says. “Did you ask him?”

And _jesus_ he sounds so serious. Even Jonathan chuckles, Nancy elbowing him from Steve’s side.

“No?” Steve frowns and straightens out. “Why should I have? If someone likes a person, you just _tell them_. Hiding it doesn't do anyone any good.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “I get the feeling you’re too dense to realize when someone likes you, even if they come out and say it,” Billy says. “But that’s okay. I’ve got patience.”

Then, he steal another fry and grins when Tommy slaps at him.

“Yeah, as _if_ you’re Stevie’s type,” Tommy says. “I love you, Hargrove -- but I’m pretty sure Harrington hates your guts.”

“You're not _wrong,_ ” Steve says.

Billy just hums. His gaze feels like a weight on Steve’s shoulders -- heavy and hot.

“That’s okay,” Billy says. “As I said -- I’m patient.”

This time, when he steals a fry, Tommy decks him in the arm, _hard_. Billy just cackles.

-*-

Being around people again, around _friends_ , seems to do the trick for Steve's insomnia.

The more he spends time with them, the less his dreams turn into nightmares. Instead, in their place, come something just as eerie. Just as somber. But without all of the terror.

It always starts on the forest floor. Laying there, blinking up through the trees at the moon, staring between the branches to remind himself that there’s a sky. There’s always a warmth, in his belly and his chest, tingling along his limbs until there’s a noise.

A whisper.

He never remembers what it says. Just that it makes him move, gets him on his feet, bare in the dirt as he walks along.

He keeps expecting to find bodies. More rot and decay.

Instead, he finds white blossoms. Dozens upon dozens of them, unfurling in the soft light of the moon. Steve falls to his knees in that field, in the clearing with the flowers, drowned in something sweet he can’t name. He touches one, as it curls open, and someone whispers _morning glory_.

It doesn’t scare him like it should.

Sometimes, he falls asleep there. In that field. Surrounded by _morning glory_.

Those are the nights he sleeps best.

On the nights that he can’t sleep at all, can’t go find that field in his mind, he sits awake in his living room staring out the window. Into the woods. Wondering if that place exists between the trees.

-*-

He still has sleepless nights, though. Despite his friends, despite the allure of morning glory.

-*-

It’s the third day that Steve can’t sleep. Steve knows he shouldn’t-- he promised Hop he wouldn’t-- but he wants to see if it’s real. If he can find it.

He drives out to the place in the woods teenagers like to go necking. He’s been out here a few times himself, when he was younger, when he was a little more immature.

So, he’s not exactly _surprised_ to find Billy Hargrove, lounged over the hood of his Camaro, smoking a joint under the light of a half moon.

He’s tempted to turn around. To change his mind about this whole thing. But in his lowlights, Billy looks his way, eyes burning and _so blue_ \-- and Steve’s already _here_. He’s not gonna let Billy Hargrove ruin his plans.

So he kills the engine and climbs out.

“Am I dreaming, Harrington, or is that you?” Billy drawls, propping up onto one elbow, smoke clinging to his mouth as he grins.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Steve shuts his door. “Don’t cream your pants.”

Billy laughs and laughs and laughs.

“Where’s your _date_ , king Steve? Thought this was the kinda place to come with someone pretty on your arm?”

Not that it looks like Billy’s got anyone on his arm, either.

“It is,” Steve says, pulling out a flashlight from his bag and then swinging it over his shoulder. “I’m not here on a date.”

“You’re just planning on going on, what, an ill-advised hike?” Billy takes one last drag and then stubs out his joint on the side of his car. “People have _died_ in those woods, Harrington.” Billy says, stage-whispering.

“Not for two weeks,” Steve says, sighing, and he digs back into his bag and pulls out a bottle. “Besides, I’ve got liquid courage.”

Billy pushes himself off of the car. “How about I keep you company. Be your arm candy.” He puts his hands up in the air, fingers wide. “I don’t even have to be on your arm -- unless you want me there.”

“Last time we were in the woods together, you were an asshole and my fist got friendly with your face,” Steve says, walking around to his trunk and popping it open. “I don’t think a second time is a good idea.”

Billy follows on his heels -- but keeps a safe distance between the two of them. Smart guy.

“Okay, what if I promise to not be an asshole?”

Steve reaches into his trunk, pulling out a bat, and rotates it once as he meets Billy’s wide eyes. “Yeah, okay. Deal.”

“Okay, so you’re the one who’s gonna protect me, huh?” Billy says, eyes on that bat.

“I didn’t say that,” Steve says, closing his trunk and brushing by him.

Billy follows -- again, not too close. Still, like a shadow, though. Always there.

“So, what, you’re just gonna let some serial killer off me?” Billy asks. He follows that up with: “Or a _monster_.”

“Didn’t we agree you weren’t going to be an asshole?” Steve asks, without looking back, bat tapping at his ankle as he walks.

“Okay, okay,” Billy says, trailing along behind, footsteps falling softly on the leaves. “You’ll have to tell me. When I’m being an asshole.”

“I can do that,” Steve says, grinning a little, mostly to himself.

“Yeah,” Billy says. “Course you can.”

And then he shuts up. For a moment, it’s a little disconcerting, just the sound of Billy trudging along behind him, the sounds of the forest loud around them. He stays quiet, which is even stranger, too. So much so that if Steve weren’t listening for his footfalls, he’d feel like he was all alone.

He tries not to let that bother him. But the hair on the back of his neck and on his arms is standing on end.

He feels like he's being followed. He feels like he's being followed by something that isn't Billy Hargrove.

And it's terrifying.

His fingers tighten over his bat. His head cocks over as he stretches out his neck.

“What were you doing out here?” Steve asks, just to fill the silence. “I didn't see any arm candy on you, either.”

“Just felt like enjoying the night. Heard that’s where everyone smokes, so I figured I’d check it out. Looks like all the murders left the place a little deserted, though. More action at the drive-in tonight, maybe.”

“Were you looking for action, tonight?”

“Maybe I was feeling a little cooped up. That so bad, pretty boy?”

“I didn't say that,” Steve says.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve only got eyes for you.”

Steve feels a rush of heat prickle through him. “Don't be a dick.”

Billy falls into step alongside Steve, hands up in the air once again in surrender. “I’m not being a dick. Are you always this touchy?”

“I'm not touchy,” Steve says. “You're just-- _callous_. Like, all the fucking time. Can't you just have a normal conversation?”

“I’m not _callous_ ,” Billy says, but he doesn’t elaborate, just falls a little quiet. Steve hears him take a breath, long and slow, and then let it out. Like he’s trying to gather himself. Steve knows the feeling -- he feels it all the time, _especially_ around Billy. “I just -- don’t know what to say to you.”

“You don't know what to _say_ to me?” Steve scoffs, glancing at him, and then he clears his throat, affecting a deeper voice in a mockery of Billy's usual drawl. “How about: _hey, Steve, how are you? Good? Oh, me too. Did you catch that game last night?_ I'm not that hard to talk to.”

“Okay,” Billy says, a little slow. “Hey, how are you?”

Steve snorts. “Well, I'm exhausted. I've been having fucked up dreams ever since my friend died. And I'm drowning in school work. Otherwise? Not bad.”

Billy huffs out something that sounds like a laugh, but it’s not _mean_. Just vaguely amused. “Living large, Harrington, with your _not bad_. That’s the dream, right there.” There’s a beat, a few footsteps between them, before Billy talks again. “Sorry. About your friend.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, offering him a small, genuine smile. “I think she would've thought you were an ass, too. But she would've liked you. Most of her friends are assholes anyway.”

“She would’ve been right; I _am_ an asshole,” Billy says. “You saying you’re an asshole, too, Harrington?”

“I can be,” Steve says.

“What, when you punch handsome guys in the face?”

“And shove them out of cars,” Steve nods.

“Yeah, that,” Billy says, but he’s smiling. Even without looking, Steve can hear it in his words, in the way they float light around them in the calm of the forest.

“To be fair,” Steve says. “I did tell you to get out. A few times.”

“Hm?” Billy says, leaning a little closer as they walk. Not really toward anything -- just...walking. “I didn’t catch that. Must have bad ears, or something. What’d you say?”

Steve sighs, eyes rolling. “I'm sorry for shoving you out of my car even though you were being an absolute dickhead.”

“I’m sorry for being so much of a dickhead that you pushed me out of your car.”

“I guess I can forgive you,” Steve says. “If you keep this up, anyway.”

“What, being a charming conversationalist?” Billy asks. He even bumps into Steve’s arm with his own, as he walks.

“Well, I haven't wanted to hit you once, yet, so.”

Billy huffs out a laugh. “I’d say I should try harder, but I think I like it when you don’t want to deck me.”

Even though Steve’s not so sure about that. Billy had looked _delighted_ on the forest floor, nose bleeding, laughing through his pain. He’d looked less pleased on the pavement of the driveway after Steve pushed him out of the car, though -- hurt and surprised and disheveled, all at once.

But he's not going to go anywhere near that. Not tonight. Not when things are going pretty well.

“Well,” Steve shrugs, spinning the bat in his hand as they meander along. “I think I like not wanting to deck you. I'm not big into violence.”

“Well, you pack a mean punch regardless. Gotta say: I’m impressed.”

“God, don't be.” Steve shakes his head, looking over at him again, finding Billy's eyes on him, and then looking forward to avoid his stare. “Like, Tommy will tell you-- I'm the biggest pussy. Pretty sure I nearly broke something in my hand when I hit you.”

“You didn’t, though. You knocked me clean to the ground and nearly broke my nose,” Billy says, sounding thoroughly pleased. Impressed, too. “Who knew such a pretty thing like you could have so much power in you?”

Steve winces. “Why do you do that?”

Billy slows down a hair, falling out of stride with Steve. “Why do I do _what_?”

“That… fake flirting, compliment bullshit,” Steve huffs, coming to a stop, twisting to face him. “Like, you _know_ it isn't funny, right?”

Billy frowns, shoulders going tight the second Steve twists to look at him head on. And yeah, _okay_ , maybe this is coming closer to last time than Steve thought, because Billy _always_ looks like he’s ready for a fight.

“I’m not _trying_ to be funny,” Billy snaps. “It’s true: you’ve got a pretty face. I’m just _saying_ , not lying or trying to fuck with you. End of story.”

“Okay, well-- I don't know what it's like where _you're_ from, but-- calling another guy _pretty_ is generally reserved for one of two reasons. Either you want in my _pants_ or you're trying to be _mean_.” Steve says, holding his hands out, a bit helpless. “And I figure it's probably not one, so it must be the other.”

“Well,” Billy says. “Where I’m from, we call a spade a spade. Which means that when I call someone pretty, they’re pretty. And you -- you’re one of the prettiest damn things I’ve ever seen.”

Steve blinks, taking a step back, his throat working. “Sounds like a nice place.”

“Real nice,” Billy says. “Now, are you done thinking I'm an asshole?”

Steve's eyes flit over his face. “Maybe twenty percent done.”

Billy's eyes look so dark when Steve finally looks at them. Sincere. “I can work with that,” he says. “Hell, I kinda _like_ how fiery you are.”

“Only kind of?”

Billy grins, wide and wild. “ _Really_ into it.”

Steve swallows, skin burning up, and he steps back again, pointing at Billy with the end of his bat. “You're trouble.”

And then he turns, pressing on, following the beam of his flashlight through the underbrush. Grinning when he hears Billy hurry to keep up.

-*-

Steve doesn't know how long he's out there with Billy, looking for a field of flowers he's only seen in his head. But he knows that it's late and that they should head back if they don't want to get lost.

And he knows that Billy has kept him company-- _amiable_ company at that-- the entire time.

“We should head back,” Steve eventually sighs, when they come up on another empty clearing.

“You sound like you aren't ready to head back,” Billy says.

He should be, for all intents and purposes, upset about the fact that Steve has dragged him everywhere, tonight. He should be _bored_. He should be tired.

He shouldn't sound like he wants to _stay_.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, just so he can see his breath in front of his face; the temperature has dropped, his nose and cheeks and ears are cold. “But I'm not gonna find what I'm looking for, so.”

“Well,” Billy says, all slow. “What are you looking for, then? Maybe I can help.”

“It's stupid,” Steve shakes his head. “And… not real.”

“It's not stupid,” Billy says, and Steve isn't sure if he agrees or not. “Everything's real. Just maybe not in this universe, right here, right now.”

Steve gives him a look. “You've really got a hardon for all of that philosophy bullshit, don't you?”

“Maybe,” Billy says. “Or maybe the universe is a more complicated place than anyone realizes. I think it makes it a more interesting place to conceptualize, you know?”

“So, what? I should keep looking for this dream place?”

“Always,” Billy says. “You dreamed about it and you're out here looking for it. So it must mean something to you, right?”

Steve stops, frowning at the forest floor, and in his mind, he sees the field and knows it's there. At least there, in his head, there's someplace _safe_.

“I guess,” Steve says.

“So?” Billy says, and his shoulder bumps against Steve's. “Wanna keep looking?”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “What's the point? I'm not gonna find it. Not here.”

“Does it matter, if you're enjoying yourself?”

Steve looks at him again, brow up. “Who says I'm enjoying myself?”

“You’re not punching me?” Billy says, leaving it half a question.

“And a lack of aggression is definitely an indicator of enjoyment,” Steve says, biting back his grin when it makes Billy shift a little as he walks, like he's _squirming._

“It's a _start,”_ is all Billy says, but he's smiling, too.

“Alright,” Steve nods. “I'll give you that. It's a start.”

-*-

“You’ll never guess who’s throwing a rager this weekend,” Carol hisses, slapping down a flyer onto their table in front of Steve as he picks at his lunch.

It says a lot that, when Billy leans all against him in order to get a look and tug the flyer closer with a well-placed finger, Steve doesn’t do much more than lift a brow.

“Who’s that?” Billy asks, pointing at the flyer, still all warm up against Steve's side.

“Tri Delt,” Carol says, sliding in across from them, eyes wide and gum popping the way it does when she gets excited. “Best sorority on campus for parties. They're legendary.”

“By legendary, she means they're destructive. The cops always get called.” Steve tells him. “The girls are nice, though. And they know how to party.”

“That sounds like my kinda time,” Billy says. “Who's in?”

He _leans_ against Steve, leg knocking into Steve's thigh as he does.

“Um, we're all fucking in.” Carol says, and then frowns when Steve's nose wrinkles up. “We're _all_ in, right, Steve?”

“A Tri Delt party? Really?”

“Please, pretty boy,” Billy says, turning those baby blues on Steve.

“I'm not saying _you_ can't go,” Steve holds up his hands, inching back, as if putting space between them will stop Billy from eating it right back up again. “They're just notoriously bad for my head the next day, and I always end up in some rando’s bed.”

Just as Steve thought, Billy inches closer as the seconds pass.

“What? But who will be my arm candy, then?” Billy asks.

“This might be news for you, but I'm _pretty sure_ you don't usually get laid if you show up with someone on your arm,” Steve says, patting his back.

Carol pushes the flyer at Steve. “You _have_ to go. Who's gonna help me make fun of everyone?”

Steve snorts. “Um. Jonathan? Nancy? Tommy?”

“Okay, well who will wrangle _Billy_?” Carol asks. “He's got it _bad_ for you, Stevie baby.”

“Let him run free,” Steve shrugs. “I won't be there, so he can harass who ever he wants without being called out. It's a win-win, right, _Billy_?”

“Nah, I'm pretty sure I'd rather harass you all night long, pretty boy.”

“Sadly, we can't all have our dreams come true.” Steve says, not unkindly, but with a hint of bite. “You learn to live with the disappointment.”

“Ooh,” Jonathan says, climbing into his seat. “Who are we disappointing today?”

“Billy's still trying to get his dick wet and Steve's still not biting,” Carol says, like she's _bored_ by it.

Steve sighs while Billy nods sagely.

“The hot ones always take more effort,” Billy says.

Jonathan nods back, just as serious. “Steve can be stubborn. I've found that good weed and food and a big blanket will loosen him up a little.”

Steve throws a fry at him as he laughs.

“Johnny, tell Steve he has to come to the Tri Delt rager with us,” Carol says.

Jonathan glances at the flyer. “Steve, you've gotta go to the Tri Delt rager with us.”

“ _Why_?”

“Carol said so. You have to.”

“See?” Billy says, up against Steve's side again. Warm and solid and real, but a little oppressive, too. Like the heat of summer. “You gotta.”

“Alright, alright, _jeez-us_.” Steve pushes at him, and at least Billy gives then-- better, now, that he's spent at least two nights in the woods with him, testing and finding Steve's boundaries. “I'll go, but _only_ if someone keeps an eye on me. No slutting it up for Steve Harrington.”

“Aye aye,” Billy says. “Count me in.”

“Jesus,” Carol says. “God help me with these stupid boys.”

-*-

The music is loud and the front room is full of smoke. Steve’s already got two numbers scrawled on the inside of his left wrist.

He's nursing his third drink, watching Tommy and Carol grind on the makeshift dancefloor of the living room.

Billy is -- not anywhere to be _found_.

Which is...not exactly something Steve knows how to feel about. Usually, Billy would already be on him, all over him-- at least, mostly.

Billy has a way of making Steve feel cornered, _surrounded,_ without even touching him.

Steve downs his drink and heads to the kitchen for another.

Of course, he finds Billy there, chatting up some blondes.

“Pretty boy! You made it!” Billy says, separating himself from the girls, beelining straight for Steve.

Steve blinks as Billy pushes a drink into his hand. “Been here for a while, actually.”

“Really?” Billy says, but he doesn't clarify when _he_ got here, just pushes a drink into Steve's hands and loops an arm around his neck, in the attempt to lead him away from the kitchen and the girls. “I'm supposed to be, what, keeping you out of trouble?”

“Never said _you_ were supposed to keep an eye on me,” Steve says, sipping at his cup, hissing at the sharp sting of it. “Jesus, Billy, what is this? Rubbing alcohol?”

“What? It's what they're offering.” But then he's leaning close, grinning into Steve's ear, breath hot and tongue wicked. “I've got some weed, if you're interested.”

Steve thinks it must be the booze. Thinks it's whatever secondhand high he's got buzzing through him. But he shivers, cranes his head over to get away or make space for him, and lets his weight sway into him.

“I'm always interested,” Steve says, lets it hang there, and then grins. “In weed, anyway.”

“Jesus, you're really something, Harrington.”

Steve finds himself outside in the bite of autumn air, sinking deeper into his jacket as Billy guides him toward something like a gazebo in the back of the garden. Away from the bustle and noise of the party.

“If I'm not supposed to keep an eye on you, who is?” Billy asks, as he starts to roll out a joint on one of the beams of the gazebo, eyes focused on the task but attention clearly on Steve. _Always_ on Steve.

“I think Nancy,” Steve shrugs, leaning against a pillar, sipping slow as he watches. “But she disappeared with Jonathan a little while ago.”

“Probably getting it on in a spare room. Byers strikes me as kinda a freak.” He finishes rolling and then passes the joint to Steve, then holds up a lighter. “They don't know what they're missing out on.”

“Good weed?” Steve's brow goes up, and he tips his chin up, placing the joint between his lips and waiting for Billy to light it.

“Good weed,” Billy says, flicking the lighter on, flame dancing in between them. Steve keeps his eyes on Billy's as he breathes in. “Good company,” Billy continues.

Steve exhales slow. “Half decent company. You're trouble, remember?”

Billy hums. He doesn't make a grab for the joint, just tucks the lighter into his pocket and hovers in Steve's space. “But what's that _mean_?”

“You've never heard that?” Steve asks, and it's the liquor that makes him lean in, Billy's eyes that draw him, voice low and soft and sweet. “You're nothing but trouble.”

“I've heard it. But that doesn't tell me what that means to _you_ , pretty boy.”

Steve tilts his head, drags slow again, and breathes out smoke between them. “What do you think it means to me?”

“I think you wanna hate me, but you don't,” Billy says. “You try. Every day. And you keep coming up shorter and shorter.”

“I don’t actively try. You just make it a little easy to want to.” Steve says, reaching out, plucking at the lapels of Billy’s jacket. “Big bad Billy Hargrove making moon eyes at me and calling me pretty? But you never follow through, do you? Trouble.”

“Moon eyes?” Hargrove says with a laugh. “You saying I’m infatuated, Harrington?”

Billy leans in and plucks the joint out of Steve’s fingers and takes a long drag, holding it for a long beat before tipping his head back and letting the smoke out toward the stars.

“I think you like to pretend to be,” Steve says, relaxing back against the railing of the gazebo.

“And this is why I never follow through,” Billy says, all fucking sagely and shit, like there’s more meaning to his words than just: _I don’t want to_.

But he passes the joint back to Steve, so he can’t get too mad.

Steve hums. He pinches it between his fingers, knowing Billy watches him as he smokes.

“Well,” Steve shrugs. “That's why you're trouble. Nothing but empty promises. Maybes. I don't do maybes. Not anymore.”

“Maybe _I’m_ not interested in someone who hates me, or who wants to,” Billy says.

“Then stop pretending that you are,” Steve says, leaning toward him.

Billy leans in too then, close, close enough that Steve can feel warm breath on his lips. Billy stays there for a moment, still, and then grins, wide and sharp.

“Nah,” he says, and then reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Steve’s, pulling his hand close so that he can take a toke on the joint while its still pinched between Steve’s fingertips.

Steve's fingers twitch. Billy's lips are warm where they’re pressed, his hand hot, his eyes _burning_.

Steve feels a tug in his gut.

When Billy's done, still holding his hand, breathing out smoke, Steve hums and nods slow. “Alright. Fair enough. You gonna let me go?”

“Do I have to?” Billy asks, but his fingers are already loosening a bit around Steve’s fingers.

“Yes, Billy, you have to.” Steve says, pulling free, and he takes one last hit before passing the joint back. “Thanks for the weed. And the company.”

“The weed’s not done,” Billy says, half-finished joint in his hand.

“But I am,” Steve says, patting Billy on the shoulder and pulling away. “Gonna head back in. Those blondes inside were cute. Did you get their names?”

Billy sighs and steps back, leaning against the railing of the gazebo. “Okay. Fine, whatever. No, I didn’t get their names.”

Steve frowns. “What? You seem disappointed.”

“Well _yeah,_ ” Billy says. “You clearly wanna go, so go.”

“ _Yeah_ , because I've had a few drinks, I'm high, and I wanna get _laid_.” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “It's not _personal_ , Billy.”

“You specifically said you wanted someone to make sure you _didn't_ ‘ _slut it up,’_ ” Billy says.

“ _That_ ,” Steve points at him, grinning. “Was when I was sober. And I don't know where you get your product, but it's _unfairly_ good.”

“Then stay out here,” Billy says, offering out the joint again. “Stay with me.”

“Stay with you?” Steve cants his head. “And what's in it for me? Besides the weed.”

“Good company. No regrets tomorrow morning.”

Billy's voice is low. He takes a step forward, getting into Steve's space again, so confident, so assured.

“And if I want to regret tomorrow morning?” Steve asks, but he's already reaching for blunt.

“You didn't, when you were sober. And regardless of if you _want_ me to, I promised I'd keep an eye on you.”

He passes the blunt over, their fingertips brushing along the way.

“Alright,” Steve says, pressing the blunt between his lips. “Fine. I'll stay. But you better make it worth my while.”

“What's that mean to you?” Billy says. “Because I'm not gonna get on my knees and blow you right here, right now.”

Steve barks out a laugh. “No, just… keep me entertained. The quiet treatment works fine in the woods. Not so well for when there's a party going on twenty feet from us.”

“You only get the silent treatment because whenever I open my mouth you wanna punch me in the teeth.”

“Well, that's because you have a tendency to say the wrong thing,” Steve says, poking him in the chest, and then he shifts, sliding up so he can sit on the railing, feet hanging down. “So? C'mon. Tell me something. Get all philosophical on me, if you have to.”

“That's not something I can just do on demand, pretty boy.” Billy says, inching forward until he's dangerously close to standing right in between Steve's legs. “As much as I wanna make you smile.”

“Tell me more about you, then.” Steve says, drink still in hand, sipping it as he passes the blunt back; warm all over and loose. “We can make a game out of it, since you always wanna know so much about me.”

“Okay,” Billy says. He takes the blunt and breathes in deep, letting the smoke out in the space between them, looking loose and content. “It's been so long since I've seen the ocean that I think I’ve forgotten what it looks like.”

“The last time I saw the ocean, I was sixteen. I went to Italy, with my mom, and I spent all day at the beach instead of at the museums like she wanted. She got _so_ mad at me.” Steve says, laughing a little, nudging at Billy’s thigh with the toe of his shoe. “You should go. See it. The ocean.”

Billy just hums. “I used to love it. The way it sounds. The way it smells.”

He takes another toke. Steve watches as he does it, slow, with his eyes closed, like he's remembering.

“Maybe one day,” Billy says, quiet as he exhales.

“It’s not going anywhere,” Steve says. “The ocean, I mean. It’ll wait for you. Nature’s kinda nice like that. It’s patient.”

“It is,” Billy says, smile slow as it finds its way onto his face.

Steve’s eyes narrow, and he kicks lightly at his leg again. “You seem far too pleased by that. You a big fan of mother nature or does the statement just appeal to your philosophical side?”

“Can it be both?” Billy asks, passing the blunt back.

“Sure,” Steve shrugs, taking it, and toking a little longer before exhaling slow, grinning the whole time. “So, you’re a flower child. I wouldn’t have guessed that. You grow your own herb? _Commune_ with the wild? Do you dance naked under the full moon?”

“Something like that,” Billy says. “Does having sex in the woods under a full moon count?”

“Sure, I’ll give it to you.” Steve says, with a faux seriousness. “That sounds like something I’ll have to try.”

And Billy _grins_ , like Steve’s _given_ him something -- which he hasn’t.

“So, you like the weed? I don’t share it with anyone else.”

“It’s _very_ good,” Steve says, hitting it again, eyes locked with Billy’s. “I feel very special.”

Billy’s gaze is hot when it meets Steve’s, eyes so blue, even in the dim light. “You should. You’re my favorite, but that’s not exactly a secret.”

“And _why_ exactly am I your favorite?” Steve asks.

Billy hums. “You’re kind, even when you don’t need to be. Fearless, when you shouldn’t be.” He grins. “An asshole to me, when no one else is.”

“You _like_ that I’m an asshole to you?” Steve asks.

“I mean, it would be a lot easier if you loved me like Tommy does. But then it wouldn’t be hard earned.”

“And you wanna _earn it_ , huh?” Steve asks.

“Obviously,” Billy says.

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Steve asks, tilting his head, bringing the blunt up for one more hit.

“Time and patience,” Billy says. “And I’ve got plenty of both.”

_“Yeah_ ,” Steve breathes out, smoke and his breath billowing between them. “But what are you gonna _do_?”

“Nothing that’ll make you want to punch me in the face, first off,” Billy says. “But what, are you expecting more _gifts_? I can bring you more flowers, if you want.”

Steve laughs a little. “I like flowers.”

“Okay,” Billy says, so serious. Like he's actually _gonna_.

“Okay,” Steve nods, holding out the joint; his fingers are tingling a little, his skin _warm_ , and he sways a little when he takes another drink. “So. You like me because I’m an asshole. And apparently I’m _kind_. And fearless, huh?”

“Kinda,” Billy says. “Maybe just because you're you.”

Steve hums. “Because I’m _me_. Sounds like you’ve got quite the crush.”

“Hasn't Carol mentioned it? I'm pretty sure she has.”

The funny thing is, they _all_ have, in one way or another.

“Pretty sure Carol thinks we’re five seconds from fucking every day.” Steve mutters.

“Pretty sure Tommy already thinks I'm sucking your dick.”

“Nah, he knows I woulda told him.” Steve says, shaking his head, laughing when he nearly falls back, spilling a bit of his drink when he goes to catch himself.

It takes Steve a moment to realize that Billy’s hands are on his thighs. Steadying him. Catching him, so he doesn’t fall backwards.

Even though Steve’s got it, Billy’s there, eyes on him, concerned and watchful.

“Careful, Harrington.”

“I’m always careful,” Steve mumbles, brows pinching as he stares down at Billy’s fingers, spread over the denim over his thighs, feeling nothing but warmth; everywhere else is cold, even though he feels _hot_ , and he knows it’s just the booze and the weed and Billy’s eyes always on him. “Y’know. It’s actually a common misconception. That I hate you, I mean. That’s such a strong word. _Hate_. I don’t, like-- _hate you_. Might’ve at first, hated what you were, but… I mean, the only thing I really hate is my old man. And you don’t look like my old man.”

“Okay,” Billy says, slow. “But you don’t _like_ me.”

Like that _means_ something.

“I like you plenty,” Steve frowns at him, and his balance feels all wrong as he pokes Billy in the chest again. “Sometimes. Mostly. You’re just… _annoying_ , always-- you know. And you’re _confusing_ and _obnoxiously charming_ and-- and _pretty_. And I dunno, you just… make my hair stand on end.”

“So, what, you wanna go sleep with me in the middle of the woods because I make your hair stand on end?” Billy asks, leaning in, grinning a little, but looking curious, too.

“I didn’t-- I didn’t say that,” Steve says, throat feeling hot. “I never said that.”

“So then I’m not sure what you _are_ saying,” Billy says, too cocky for his own good.

It’s really only Billy’s hands keeping him steady. He swallows, wetting his lips.

“I’m _saying_ ,” Steve searches Billy’s eyes with his own, finding them sure and still. “That you make me feel like I’m _prey_. And that I need to be careful.”

“So _that’s_ what you mean by _trouble_ ,” Billy says. His fingers curl a little on Steve’s thighs and Steve can’t help but shiver.

Steve nods, tongue too heavy in his mouth for words. “Uh huh.”

“I promise you’ll always see me coming,” Billy says. “I’m not _chasing you_ , pretty boy, I’m _waiting_ for you.”

With that, Billy moves one of his hands to Steve’s, bringing his fingers -- and the nearly forgotten joint -- to his lips to take another drag, hand warm around Steve’s as he holds it.

Steve watches. Because he’s helpless to do anything else. Because when Billy pulls back, smoke still in his mouth, he sways forward, like he wants to taste it on his tongue.

But he comes up short.

“What are you waiting for me to _do_?”

“It’s not the right time,” Billy says, and Steve thinks he might actually _be_ serious about all of this, even though it doesn’t seem possible. Billy Hargrove couldn’t _actually_ be offering to go fuck Steve in the middle of the woods -- right?

Steve wants to ask. Wants to ask him what he _means_. Wants to ask him what he _wants_.

He doesn’t get a chance to.

Pushing Billy away, Steve fumbles. He drops his drink and the rest of the bud and bends over the railing, nausea making itself known loud and clear, as he empties his stomach into the bushes around the gazebo.

It takes Steve a few retches to realize that Billy’s hand is on his back, rubbing comforting circles against the skin through Steve’s shirt. He’s _shushing_ Steve, too, offering quiet little words Steve can’t even hear in comfort.

Steve _groans_ , low and long, when he finally finishes. Hangs there, over the railing, head spinning.

Billy wrangles Steve after a moment, guiding him to a nearby bench, hand still over his back, solidly _there_ next to him.

“Sorry about the shitty booze,” Billy says.

Steve groans again, pressing his face between his knees. “ _God_ , don’t say booze.”

“Well, it wasn’t the _weed_ ,” Billy says, hand still rubbing circles -- maybe more so ovals now, up and down Steve’s spine. “I’m sorry, baby. Deep breaths.”

Steve grunts, but nods, steadying out his breathing as he sits there with Billy stroking over his back. Once he’s settled enough to feel like he isn’t going to lose whatever else is in his stomach, he turns his face to look at Billy.

“Did you just call me baby?” he asks, still slurring a little.

“You’re _really high_ ,” Billy says, but there’s a smile in his voice. “You’re probably imagining things.” His fingers drift up a bit, catching just slightly in the hair at the back of Steve’s neck. “ _Baby_ ,” Billy says, as an afterthought, soft.

Steve shudders, exhaling hard. And he figures-- well, okay, he’s kind of still drunk, so-- but he figures Billy’s already seen him vulnerable and puking his guts out. So he lets his eyes go heavy, humming as Billy’s fingertips drag over his nape.

“You’re right. I’m _very_ high.” Steve says. “And now I’m _starving_.”

“You should probably wait a _little_ while before you eat,” Billy warns. “But I’ll take you to the diner, if you want.”

There’s fingers in Steve’s hair and the sound of Billy’s voice and his too-good promises in Steve’s ear. There’s the crickets, too, the sounds of the night in the garden, and the faint pounding of music from inside the house.

“Diner sounds good,” Steve sighs. “Bed sounds good, too.”

“How about bed,” Billy says, voice so low and so close to Steve’s ear.

He sounds dreamlike, far away. Tucked back into the darkness of Steve’s head.

“I’ll make you pancakes in the morning,” Billy says.

But Steve’s sure he dreams it, because he can practically taste the syrup on his tongue, can feel Billy’s lips on his neck, warm and sweet like sugar.

“Sweet dreams, baby,” Billy says, and Steve _definitely_ dreams that, too, because his arms are around his pillow, the smell of his bedroom safe around him as darkness pulls him under.

-*-

Steve dreams anyway. Sweetly. Softly.

About that field in the woods covered in morning glories.

-*-


	3. follow me into an endless night

_-*-_

He’s surprised he doesn’t have a headache when he wakes up. He’s surprised to find himself in bed, still in his clothes from the night before, right up until he hears music downstairs. Until he smells something cooking.

He figures he has time to rinse off and change. Figures it’s Tommy or Nancy who got him home, who crashed there to make sure he didn’t die during his drunken fugue.

When he gets downstairs, he’s not exactly surprised to find Billy there-- but he didn’t exactly expect it either.

“Pancakes?” he asks.

“Obviously,” Billy says. “I don’t break promises.”

It takes Steve a second to realize what Billy’s _wearing_. He’s still in his jeans from the night before, the ones that are too tight, too flattering -- but he’s wearing Steve’s old basketball shirt. The one that’s yellow and red and blue, but faded and soft and worn a little too thin. It hugs Billy’s shoulders lovingly, drapes just right over each of his muscles to show how much time he must spend at the gym.

He looks like a dream in Steve’s kitchen, soft in his bare feet and hair pulled up in a bun.

It’s terrifying, how easy it is to imagine waking to this every day. How much he’d _like_ to.

“Thanks,” Steve says, pulling himself up onto the counter to watch him flip a pancake over. “You, uh… didn’t have to do this.”

“Told you I would,” Billy says with a wink in Steve’s direction. “Helps a lot that I actually _want_ to.”

“Did you-- bring me home, too?”

“I did,” Billy says. “Carried you to my car like a blushing bride.”

Steve goes pink in the face. “You did _not_.”

“I did. Everyone saw. They’ll think I deflowered you, or some shit,” Billy says. “I didn’t, by the way.”

“Would be hard to do, considering I’m not actually purity incarnate.” Steve says.

Billy shrugs and offers Steve a pancake from his fingertips, still warm, but not too hot.

“Still,” he says.

Steve hums as he bites into it, buttery and warm and _perfect_. “You’re really good at making these.”

“I know.”

Of _course_ that’s what Billy says, as he turns and starts pouring a new batch of pancakes onto the griddle. He drops chocolate chips into these.

“What else can you make?” Steve asks.

“What else do you want?”

Like anything’s up for grabs.

“I don’t want anything else,” Steve says. “I was just curious.”

“How much do you remember about last night?” Billy asks.

“Um,” Steve frowns, chewing another bite slow. “That depends. You talking _before_ or _after_ you found me in the kitchen?”

When Billy falters, going sharp and still, Steve snorts and nearly chokes when he laughs.

“I’m kidding,” Steve says, coughing into the back of his hand and clearing his throat. “I remember puking, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s a little blurry leading right up to that and even blurrier after, but-- I remember mostly everything until then.”

Billy nods, then. “Jesus, you're such a fucking dick.”

But it's _fond_. In a tone Steve hasn't heard from anyone in a _while._

“Wasn’t that one of the things you like about me?” Steve asks.

“So you remember _that_.”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs. “I remember that. Remember a couple of other things, too.”

“You remember trying to ditch me to get your dick wet?”

Steve bobs his head, nodding. “Can you blame me? I was drunk and horny.”

“Yeah, and I'm pretty sure sober you wouldn't have wanted that, _so_.” Billy grins and flips the pancakes. “I feel like you should be _thanking_ me.”

“ _Oh_ , my bad,” Steve drawls, sliding off the edge of the counter, padding over to Billy at the stove, pressing all _close_ just like Billy usually does, mouth just grazing Billy’s cheek. “ _Thank you_ , Billy.”

Then, he presses a kiss to Billy’s cheek, wet and loud. Then, he reaches around him and steals another pancake.

Billy goes _soft_. He leans into Steve before Steve pulls back, which means Steve gets to watch him be a little unsteady on his feet as he munches down on his stolen pancake.

And boy, it sure is a sight to see _Billy Hargrove_ looking a little bit like he's swooning.

“Better?” Steve asks, and he’s trying to tease him, but he doesn’t want to shatter that softness, so his voice comes out quiet and careful, instead.

“Yeah,” is all Billy says, and he still looks a little off-balance, like he _wants_ to reach out, but for whatever reason _doesn't._

So, Steve does instead.

Nothing big. Just his hand, on Billy’s arm, fingers tentative and chaste. Brushing as he crosses by to get to the fridge.

“Careful,” Steve says. “You’ll burn the pancakes.”

“Thanks,” Billy says, and Steve could swear he could feel Billy lean into it before Steve pulls away.

But then Billy's back making pancakes, looking stable and solid again, after Steve pulls the orange juice out of the door.

“Do you have anything on today?” Billy asks.

“Laundry,” Steve shrugs. “I might go out again, tonight. To, uh… look for that thing.”

They don’t really _talk_ about it. That Steve goes out into the woods at night, looking for _something_ that he won’t tell Billy about, and that Billy always meets him at Lover’s Point to walk with him.

“Otherwise,” Steve pours them both glasses, sliding one over to Billy. “I’m free. Why?”

“The woods are beautiful during the day,” is all Billy says, flipping the last of the pancakes onto the plate.

“You wanna go on a hike?” Steve asks, brows going up as he leans against the counter next to him, arms half crossed as he sips his orange juice. “Seriously?”

“Sure,” Billy says. “I hear there's all sorts of cool trails. And it's not like anyone will actually be on them, so…”

He holds out a pancake for Steve in his fingers. At mouth height.

Steve hesitates. Because it’s one thing for him to be drunk and taking hits off of a blunt from Billy’s fingers. It’s another for Billy to _feed_ him.

But he does. He leans in, catches Billy’s wrist, and bites into it.

Billy grins. And then laughs, skin warm underneath Steve's fingers.

“Is that a yes?” Billy asks, leaning in, still smiling.

Steve licks some of the chocolate from his mouth and then nods. “Sure. It’s a yes.”

Billy tugs his hand back, free of Steve's, and crams the remainder of the pancake into his mouth.

Steve snorts, shoving at him. “You’re fucking gross. I’m gonna go change.”

“I'm gonna keep wearing this,” Billy says, plucking at his -- at _Steve's --_ faded yellow shirt.

“Yeah, okay.” Steve nods, backing out of the kitchen, and he’s be lying if he said he didn’t _like_ that idea. “You do that.”

He’s just not gonna tell Billy.

-*-

Billy’s wasn’t lying when he said the woods are pretty during the day. Especially with autumn turning all the leaves, painting the world in red and gold. It’s chilly, and Steve’s got his hands tucked into his pockets, and his face tilted up toward the treeline.

Billy's just wearing his denim jacket over Steve's old tee, but he seems fine. He seems at peace out here, away from the need to posture or put on a front. Among the trees, Steve always likes him better.

Even if he's pretty sure Billy lost the trail ten minutes ago.

“Where are you even leading me?” Steve asks, and he should maybe be worried because it’s a been a _while_ but there’s still a killer or _something_ out there.

But he’s not really all that worried. Not with Billy around.

It's kinda stupid, because it's not like Billy's got a _gun_ or something, but when he says he'll protect Steve? He sounds so _serious._ Steve can't help but believe him.

“This cool place I saw once. It shouldn't be _that_ much farther.”

“And what’s so _cool_ about this _place_?” Steve asks, picking up the pace just enough to knock his shoulder into Billy’s.

Billy knocks back against Steve. “Just _wait,_ jesus. You're such a dick, Harrington. You gotta _trust_ me.”

“I dunno,” Steve waffles a hand out in front of him. “You’re _kind of_ a shady mother fucker--”

Billy _laughs_ , sounding kinda delighted. “Okay, okay. Look, I promise you'll stay safe, that I'll take care of you. Okay?”

Steve blinks over at him, and he won’t _say it_ , but he’s kind of delighted too.

“I’m not some _damsel_ , you know.” Steve says. “But thanks.”

“And you're not _prey_ ,” Billy agrees, and Steve _barely_ remembers talking about that, but they _did_. “Regardless, you're a _dick_ , but I think you're kinda great, so I guess I'll make sure you don't trip over a fucking root and kill yourself.”

And with that, Billy loops an arm around Steve's waist and pulls him tight to his side -- thereby missing a large root Steve hadn't even seen because he'd been too busy looking at Billy.

Bracing himself against Billy, Steve stumbles a little and _laughs_. “Jesus. Alright, you wanna play hero, that’s fine. Want me to swoon for you, too?”

“Do I get another kiss?”

Steve doesn’t pull back, fingers curling a little into _his shirt_ spread over _Billy’s chest_. “Do you want one?”

Billy _jolts_ under Steve's touch, like there's an electric current running through his finger tips.

Billy takes a breath. Steve can _feel_ it, Billy's ribs expanding under Steve's fingers.

“Mm. We're almost there,” Billy says.

_That’s not an answer_ , Steve thinks, but at the same time, he thinks: _that is an answer_. He swallows and jerks back, pulls away, figures he’d embarrassed himself enough last night.

He doesn’t need to embarrass himself anymore.

“Right,” Steve mutters, putting some distance between them.

But he doesn't get much of a chance to dwell, because a few steps later Billy is pushing through some dense evergreen underbrush to a clearing. It's different than the one in his dream but no less beautiful. Moss and fern covered, it seems untouched by the hand of fall, still lush and green, with a stream running through the middle of it, cutting the space nearly in half. The evergreen trees overhead leave the ground dappled in afternoon light, the space quiet and tranquil and so, so perfect.

Steve is hesitant to step into this place. Like he doesn’t _belong_ there. He takes it all in and the noise of the forest is so _soft_ here. Almost delicate. Just the steady trickle of the stream, the shift of leaves, the hush of bird song in the distance.

“How did you even _find_ this place?” Steve breathes, eyes wide.

Billy walks in like he owns the place, the way he walks in everywhere.

“C'mon,” he says, ushering Steve forward, hands outstretched as he walks backwards. “Why are you all the way over there?”

Carefully, Steve steps forward. Keeps his steps soft, gentle, _quiet_. Tentative as he steps into the clearing and then faster, surer, as he heads for Billy. Figures it might be safer, less disruptive, if he’s next to him.

“Seriously,” Steve says. “I’ve lived here my _whole life_. How did you _find_ this?”

“Just lucky, I guess. Right place, right time.” Billy grins as Steve gives him a dubious look. “Okay _fine_ , someone told me about it, alright? Said it was a good place to get stoned.”

“Oh,” Steve laughs, nodding, still just as dubious. “So, we’re out here to get high?”

“Nah, not unless you wanna. Just figured since you can't seem to find what you're looking for, I could show you -- something else.” Billy shrugs and looks, honestly, a little sheepish.

Steve blinks. “Oh. You-- _oh_.”

Billy shrugs and moves, sitting down on a nearby patch of moss. He flops back onto his back and then looks up.

“It's a nice place,” Billy says.

“Yeah, it’s--” Steve swallows, and he thinks-- he thinks it’s _not_ that place in his mind, but it’s-- it’s _better_ , almost-- and he sinks down onto the ground next to him, fingers carding through the grass. “It’s really nice, Billy.”

“You like it?” Billy asks, blue eyes looking back at Steve, head tilted a bit. Next to Billy's hair, about a foot away, are tiny white mushrooms, so fragile they look like transparent little bells.

This place feels _magical._

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and he’s slow to spread out next to him, careful as he reaches up and out, fingertips touching a mushroom with a ginger care, grinning as they bounce a little. “I love it.”

“Good,” Billy says.

Steve tilts his head up and looks at the sky through the swaying trees, soft sounds of the clearing around him. It's impossible not to feel relaxed, at peace. It's impossible to not feel Billy's eyes on him, watching, the whole time.

Steve lays like that, with him, for a while. Cards his fingers through the grass over his head, touches the soft moss between their bodies.

Feels Billy’s fingers against his own.

“I used to hate these woods,” Steve says.

“Because they took your friend?” Billy asks, soft. Apologetic, like he's sorry to bring up something still raw.

Steve hums his agreement, and then shifts. “That, and, uh… my _dad_ used to bring me out here. When I was younger. Hunting trips and shit. I fucking _hated_ it.”

“Yeah? Not a fan of hunting, pretty boy?” Billy’s fingers brush over his, delicate.

“Definitely not,” Steve’s mouth twists up and his fingers twitch. “Can’t stomach it. Told you-- I’m a pussy. Violence isn’t in my nature. My dad calls me _soft_.”

“Yeah, but you did seem to really like punching _me_. So -- you like it when it's deserved?”

“I guess?” Steve frowns, tracking the wisps of clouds he can catch through the trees. “I guess it depends. I don’t _like it_. But I can see how it might be necessary? Like, I can see why hunting was a thing back in the day-- people needed it to _survive_. But why hunt, now? There’s a perfectly good grocery store, right down the road.”

“True,” Billy says. “Hunt to survive. Kill when it's deserved. I feel you.”

Steve turns his head, finally meeting Billy’s stare that’s been on him this entire time. “That’s not very peace, love, and groove of you.”

Billy just smiles, lazy and relaxed. “Maybe I'm more of a naturalist. I believe in the natural order of things, you know?”

“I think so,” Steve says. “I guess that depends on what you think the natural order of things is, you know?”

“What do _you_ think it is?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “I couldn’t tell you. I’ve hardly been out of small town, Indiana.”

“So? You see the natural order of things everywhere. Things are born, they consume, they kill, they die. Sometimes they bring forth life, and they always nourish things that come after them. It's just -- inescapable, you know? Everything's a part of a larger whole. Just a small piece of something big and beautiful.”

Steve’s smile is slow. He laughs a little and shifts again, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on a hand.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Steve says. “The way I see it, people are greedy. I’m greedy, you’re greedy-- it’s human nature. Or maybe just _nature_ nature. You find that something good in this fucked up world and you try and keep it. Forever. Keep it safe, keep it yours. And sometimes that means doing things you wouldn’t do.”

“Oh, I _definitely_ don't disagree with that,” Billy says, smiling big until all Steve can see are teeth, perfect and white. “Everyone and everything is greedy in its own way. And nature itself is greedy in its inability to let go of everything around it. But because it's stronger, because it's got more pull, it'll endure long after everything else. Think of all those abandoned places nature has reclaimed.”

Billy's fingertips brush over the back of Steve's hand again.

“There's a building in these woods that's nearly entirely overgrown. I think it used to be a part of that place that keeps being on the news. It's pretty old, maybe one of the first things they built here. It's pretty neat, if you ever wanna see it.”

Steve grunts, nose wrinkling up, but he doesn't pull away. “Uhh… maybe-- maybe not? Just-- I mean, that sounds cool, but. Also, maybe, not good? Just a little dangerous?”

“What, like, you think the murderer is still out there?” Billy asks. Steve can see the way he shifts onto his side, getting comfortable on the forest floor, on the blanket-like moss.

Maybe this was the kind of place Billy was envisioning when he was talking about fucking in the forest.

“They haven't caught them,” Steve shrugs. “And, so far, the only connection with the confirmed murders is Brenner’s property. Maybe not that one, but-- why push it?”

“I don’t think anyone even remembers it’s there,” Billy says. “But if you don’t wanna go, we won’t. We can just come back here. Or keep wandering, next time.”

So sure that there will be a next time.

“Sure,” Steve says. “That sounds really nice.”

“Whatever you want, pretty boy,” Billy says.

“That's a dangerous promise to make,” Steve says. “We're all greedy, remember?”

“Tell me a few things you want, then,” Billy says, sounding sleepy, sounding relaxed.

“A regular sleep schedule, for one thing.” Steve huffs.

“Okay, well. What else? Be greedy.”

“I'd like-- well, no, it's dumb.” Steve's nose scrunches up.

“No, tell me,” Billy says. “Please?”

“It's just--" Steve sighs. “Well, okay, you have to understand, my parents-- I mean, they're _fine._ I don't really-- they're not _around_. Haven't been. Most of my life, really.”

“So, you want them to be around? Or you want to be less lonely?”

“Yeah, that's-- pretty much it.” Steve says. “I'm always rattling around in that house. It's why Tommy and Carol and everyone has an open invitation. I think Tommy even has his own key.”

“So, does that mean I've got an open invitation, too?”

Steve hesitates. “Only if you keep making me pancakes.”

“Done,” Billy says.

Steve smiles. “Consider my door open, then.”

“I promise you won't regret it.”

-*-

That night, Steve dreams of that field. Dreams of laying there, completely bare, sunshine dripping through the trees onto his face. Little flecks of gold. All over his skin.

He dreams of warmth. Of fingertips trailing over the back of his hand, to his wrist, to his forearm, to the crook of his elbow.

He turns his head and finds Billy. Covered in gold.

-*-

The next day, during his lunch break, Tommy plops down next to him and Carol. Steve's got his head on Carol's lap, her fingers carding through his hair, and he only moves when Tommy shoves up his sweater and blows a raspberry to his navel.

Jerking up, he swats at him, laughing. “Jesus, dude.”

“Just trying to get your attention.”

“Well, you've fucking got it.”

Tommy grins. “I was thinking.”

Steve and Carol share a look.

“Never a good thing,” Steve says, and laughs when Tommy pinches his thigh. “What?”

“I wanna go out,” Tommy says. “All of us. We haven't done anything fun since the wake.”

Steve hesitates. Tastes something go sour in his mouth.

“I dunno, man. Midterms are right around the corner--”

“Exactly! We need to let off some steam!”

“Maybe after?” Carol suggests. “We could all crash the back row of the theater.”

Steve nods, but Tommy's shaking his head.

“No, like, _out_. To the river.”

“Tommy--”

Steve doesn't get to finish because then Billy is there-- biting into an apple, sitting down cross legged, brow up. Steve snaps his mouth shut.

“Uh oh. Am I interrupting?”

Carol rolls her eyes. “Tommy wants to go out to the river.”

“Oh?” Billy asks, but Steve can feel his eyes on him, can feel him watching the way he picks at his nails. “Like tonight? Isn't that dangerous?”

“I mean, _maybe_.” Tommy says. “But it could be _fun_. Have a bonfire, go skinny dipping, just like old times.”

Steve wants to shake him a little. Wants to say _but it's not like old times-- it can't be_.

Billy beats him to it. “Nah, I'm not feeling it. I kinda wanna stay _in_ for a while. You know. _Study_.”

Steve looks at him because he _knows_ he's lying. Looks at him and finds Billy's eyes never wavering as he bites into his apple and Tommy groans an undignified _fine_ to anyone who will listen to him whine. Looks at him and feels _grateful_.

“Staying in sounds smart,” Steve says and hopes Billy recognizes it as the invitation it is.

“See?” Billy says, pointing a finger with a big silver ring on it at him. “Someone's got some sense.”

Tommy grunts. “You all _suck_.”

-*-

Greedy. Steve said he was greedy.

He finds, as Billy takes his open invitation _very_ seriously, himself greedy for _more_. Finds Billy asleep on his couch, on the deck chairs out back, in his guest bed more and more frequently after that-- and wants to find him _elsewhere_. Finds Billy in his kitchen, in his living room, in his _pool_ and wants _more_.

He's greedy. And every bit, every piece, that Billy gives him he finds himself holding on, gripping tight, wanting _more_.

Finds himself _dreaming it_.

The field, the one Billy took him to, except it's full of soft, fragrant morning glory, he dreams of it. He dreams of laying out, over that mossy bank, bare under the full moon. He dreams of hands, warm and sure, on his thighs. Moving up, up, _up_ over his skin. He dreams of a voice in his ear, calling him _pretty boy_ , calling him _baby_. He dreams of his fingers dragging through the grass, sinking into curls, pulling as pleasure crescendos through him, as he arches and gasps into a silent night.

He's greedy.

And finding Billy, naked in his pool, is just _unfair_.

“What are you actually doing?” Steve asks, padding over and sitting cross legged at the edge of the pool, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands.

“Swimming?” Billy says, like it's the stupidest question ever, but in a fond sort of way. “It's like seven am. I wasn't waking you to ask for trunks.”

“Just grab some from the guest room, next time.” Steve says. “Skinny dipping is for drunk Friday nights only.”

“My bad,” Billy says, but he doesn’t look even an ounce sorry. No -- he looks _pleased_ with himself. Like a kid who got into the cookies. Like he always does when Steve doesn't just show him the door. “Are you gonna join me, or are you not caffeinated enough, yet?”

“Definitely not caffeinated enough,” Steve mutters, sipping his coffee. “Not _drunk enough_ , either.”

“Are you ashamed of your body, Harrington?” Billy asks, swimming his way over to the side to hang off the edge near Steve, lazy. “You shouldn't be.”

“You haven't seen my body,” Steve flicks a little water at him. “You don't know that.”

Billy flinches, but laughs. “So? You're gorgeous. Don't see what your clothes have got to do with anything.”

Steve tips his chin up, like he's peacocking. “You kidding? My clothes are my best feature.”

“Well, I mean, you look great in them. And it _is_ fun unwrapping a present,” Billy says.

“I guess I'll just need to find someone to unwrap me, won't I?” Steve asks, eyes locked with Billy's.

He's been dropping hints since the day in the field. Keeps thinking Billy is gonna pick them up.

“You could probably do better than those two blondes you had your eyes set on at the party. Before you emptied your guts into a bush, anyway.”

Steve swallows down the disappointment that there wasn't an offer. He sips at his coffee and hums.

“You're probably right,” Steve says. “Should head to the city. Dress up. Find someone to blow my mind for a night or two.”

“You deserve something better than just a night -- or two -- of fun,” Billy says, looking thoughtful. “Someone to treat you right.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve snorts. “And where am I gonna find this person?”

“I don't think you're ready, yet,” Billy says.

Fucking _cryptic_.

“I'm not _ready_ to be _treated right_?” Steve frowns. “What kind of bullshit is that?”

“I think what you want is a one night stand. No strings attached, no trouble.”

“I think that it's absurd that you think you know what _I_ want,” Steve says, pushing to his feet, taking his coffee mug with him. “I have to get to class.”

“Wanna run away with me?” Billy asks, abruptly. “Get married and run away?”

“ _What_?” Steve frowns down at him, brows drawn over his eyes. “Billy, we can’t get married.”

“If we think we're married, that's all that matters, right? Would you wanna?”

Steve falters. He feels like he’s gonna get whiplash, with how hot and cold Billy’s always running.

“I-- I have midterms in two weeks,” Steve says, a little slow, like he doesn’t know why he’s saying it when a part of him, a small but strong part, tugs in his gut at the idea. “And I couldn’t-- I mean, Tommy would lose his _shit_.”

Billy sighs. “Not _could_ you, not what would other people think, but would you _want_ to? With me.”

“I’m-- I’m sorry,” Steve shakes his head, shuffling back from the edge of the pool, like Billy might try and pull him in. “What _exactly_ are we talking about? Because, five seconds ago, you were telling me I wasn’t _ready_ for a hypothetical _someone_ \-- and _now_ you’re asking me if I want to run away with you?”

“Because I'm trying to prove my _point_ ,” Billy says. “That you don't want to run away with me.” He leans forward a little, pushing himself up. “ _Yet_.”

“Are you-- I'm sorry. Are you fucking _kidding me_?” Steve asks, anger and irritation twisting in his stomach, holding out his hand when Billy opens his mouth. “Okay. Okay, let me get this straight. My end all, be all, is supposedly _you_. And because I, what? Don’t _like you enough_? _That’s_ why I’m not _ready_ for a serious relationship? With, _specifically_ , you? What kind of backward _bullshit_ are you trying to stuff down my throat, Billy? Because, in my fucking experience, when two people _like_ each other, even a little, they figure it out _together_ if they’re gonna work out. One of them doesn’t just _decide_ for the other person.”

“That’s not what I’m saying--”

“Well, that’s what it fucking _sounds_ like,” Steve snaps, spitting his anger because it has nowhere else to go. “And you know what? _Fine_. If that’s how you want to play it, then you’re right. I _don’t_ like you enough to run away with you. And now I probably never will.”

Billy’s eyes are a little wide, a little panicked. Steve should feel bad about that.

“Get dressed and get out,” Steve says, walking away. “I have to get to class and I don’t want you here.”

Billy has class, too, but Steve doesn't care so much about that.

“ _Steve_ ,” Billy says, which sounds _strange_ , because Billy rarely ever calls him by his name. “Come on, please, look, I don't mean it like that. I just -- jesus, will you please come back?”

“Get out and come get your shit before I lock you out there without any clothes,” Steve says, pushing open the sliding glass door, and stepping inside; he doesn’t want to look back at him, doesn’t want to risk those big, blue eyes swaying him when he’s still burning up somewhere beneath his ribcage.

“ _Steve,”_ Billy shouts, right before Steve closes the door behind him. Leaving Billy out in the cold in Steve's heated pool.

Steve makes quick work of putting his dishes in the sink. Of getting upstairs and changing out of his sleep clothes so he can pull his jeans up. Of getting dressed and getting his homework stuffed into his backpack.

When he gets downstairs, Billy’s sitting on his couch, steam burning off of his skin, hair still wet, jeans low on his hips. He looks up, and Steve lets out a sharp sigh as he shoves his feet into his sneakers.

“There’s a key under the welcome mat,” Steve says. “Lock the door behind you when you leave--”

“I'm not trying to make any decisions for you,” Billy says.

Steve’s jaw ticks tight. “Okay. Lemme ask you something, then. Do you like me?”

“Yes,” Billy says, so simply.

“And do you _want_ me?”

“Yes,” Billy says. “You should know that.”

“Well, I don't. Because you've hinted at it. You've joked about it. But you've never told me.” Steve says, shrugging. “Were you ever gonna do _anything_ about it? Other than _wait_ to see if I'd throw myself at you while I'm drunk again?”

“Yeah, because I clearly want you when you're _drunk_ ,” Billy says.

Steve's jaw _locks_. “Were you ever going to do _anything_ , Billy? Other than follow me around and shame me for wanting to sleep with anyone but _you_.”

Billy's mouth snaps shut. “I was gonna --” he says, after a minute, and then stops, like whatever he was gonna say was stupid enough to not continue. “I wouldn't shame you, I'd just be fucking _sad_ about it, alright?”

“Oh, so you'll just guilt trip me, then. Can't leave you alone in the gazebo to go back to the party. Can't go have a one night stand because it's not what I _deserve_. It's not what I _should_ want. ” Steve says, arms crossing. “But _you're_ not going to do anything about it, are you? It'd be one thing if we were dating and you wanted to wait. It's another because we're _not_ and you haven't _asked me._ Remind me again how that's not making decisions for me?”

“Fine,” Billy says, standing. Crossing over into Steve's space, getting up in his face. “ _Fine_ ,” he says, “I want you. I fucking _want you_ , so fucking bad. I'd have you, right here, if you asked me to. Do you want that?”

“Right now?” Steve scoffs. “No. _Fuck_ no. Because I'm _pissed_. Because I don't want you _near me_ , right now. Because that kind of manipulation is _bullshit_. I'm not _ready? Fuck_ you, Billy.”

“I'm not trying to _manipulate_ you. I'm not trying to make decisions _for_ you,” Billy says, teeth bared and voice strained. “I'm _not_.”

“Then don't _do it_ ,” Steve says, stepping closer. “ _I_ will tell you when I'm ready. _You_ don't get to look at me and tell me I'm not.”

Billy takes in a breath. Steve watches those blue eyes search his face, expression deep. Like he's got multitudes to say but zero words.

“Okay,” Billy finally says. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Steve nods. “Now, I'm gonna go to class.”

“Look,” Billy says, fingertips reaching out to brush against Steve's arm. Not holding him or grabbing, but almost. “I just -- I get it. If you're not interested. I just -- you should know that.”

“The funny thing is: I was pretty well on my way to _very_ interested, right up until this morning.” Steve says, flinching back. “Now-- I'm not so sure.”

Steve watches Billy swallow. Watches the way his throat works. His eyes look so big and blue and glassy as he blinks like Steve just slapped him.

“Alright,” Billy says, and takes a step back. He grabs his jacket off the couch and breezes past Steve toward the door. “I'll get out of your hair.”

The door shutting echoes around Steve's empty house when Billy closes it behind him.

-*-

“You're never gonna fucking believe this,” Dustin hisses as he slides into place next to Steve in the booth at the back of the arcade.

Steve picks at the pepperoni on his pizza. “Language.”

“ _Steve.”_

Steve blinks up at him. “ _Dustin_.”

Dustin rolls his eyes. “Hop finally caved, dude. Brenner’s construction crew is finally up and running again.”

Steve blinks. It's been three days since Steve kicked Billy out of his house and it's been three days since Steve's had a good night's sleep.

His nights have been full of that field. Of moss under his back and hands _everywhere_ , touching, but never _giving_. Of _worship_ in a way that leaves Steve's breathless and aching in the morning.

Of something at the edges of the clearing _watching_ him as he gasps into the night.

He's a little slow on the uptake, today.

“Pardon?”

“The construction. It's up and running again. Which means there's probably gonna be another _attack_ ,” Dustin says.

This kid and his crazy fucking theories.

“The only reason Hop would let them start working again is if he was sure it was safe, Dustin.” Steve says.

“He can only delay them for so long before they start getting lawyers involved,” Dustin says.

“ _Okay_. And?”

“And he still hasn't caught anyone. Or anything. So -- the killings haven't stopped. They're just on hold. And they're about to start again. Just _watch_ , Steve. It's gonna happen again.”

“You're so fucking cynical, Henderson.” Steve huffs, smile small but fond.

“No, I'm _realistic,_ Harrington,” Dustin says.

“Alright, well. I dunno what you want me to do about it, kid.” Steve says. “It's not like I can shut the construction site down.”

“I'm just _saying_ ,” Dustin says, but Steve _knows_ he's right, knows he wants Steve to march down to the police station to do something. Like _Hop’s_ got a choice in this matter, either.

Steve knows there are larger players in this puzzle than just local law enforcement.

“I'll keep my ear to the ground, okay?” Steve offers because it's all he _can_ offer.

“Okay,” Dustin says. “I'll let you know if I hear anything before you do. I'll tell you if anything spooky happens, too.”

“Yeah, okay.” Steve laughs. “You do that.”

-*-

Steve knows he shouldn't be out here. He shouldn't have been out here _before_ , but now that construction is back and running, he feels like Dustin's right. Like things are back in motion again.

But Steve doesn't want to keep trying to sleep only to wake with longing, bitter and heavy, in his mouth again.

And when he'd gone out, with and without Billy, walking in these woods, he'd been able to find a calm. A peace.

He wants to find that clearing.

It's not as easy as he originally hoped. He knows what direction it's in, knows when to cut off the trail and knows approximately how far into the forest it is. But the more Steve walks, the more he's sure he must have _messed up_ somehow.

The woods are dark as always, not even the light of the moon creeping into the trees. Just his flashlight, just the strange way it illuminates the empty spaces in front of him.

After a while, it feels far more like that first night in the woods than any of the nights with Billy.

Steve keeps walking, though. Presses forward, burying himself in his coat to fight the cold, following the trail of his light.

But the further he goes, the worse that feeling gets. Like he shouldn't _be out here_.

It's not that he necessarily feels eyes on him like he did before. But he does feel uneasy. Icy cold dread seeping into his bones.

Something in the woods screams.

Steve _freezes_. Thinks about his dad-- _it's safer in the dark--_ and fumbles to twist off his flashlight until he's completely _consumed_ by the dark.

He breathes through his mouth, careful and hitching and slow. Reaches out and touches his hand to the closest tree, to steady himself, and closes his eyes as he tries to settle the sudden rush of blood in his ears.

There's _nothing_. No sound, not even the rustling of leaves, not even the bugs. Barely even the crunch of leaves under his feet.

Like everything was placed on _pause._

Steve knows he has to move. He has to keep going or turn back, but he has to _move_. He'll freeze out here if he doesn't.

“Okay,” Steve breathes, taking one breath, then another. “ _Okay_ , Harrington, don't be a pussy. Move your fucking feet.”

Taking another, tight breath, ears ringing, Steve fumbles with his flashlight again. It flickers on as he twists it. Flickers and then _dies_.

Steve smacks it, cursing under his breath.

The moon is barley even a sliver in the sky. Nothing at all to light his path.

But he turns and presses forward, hands out in front of him, just _moving_ , slowly, just trying to get out of the fucking woods.

Another screech in the distance. Then, the hoot of an owl behind him. Steve moves a little faster, away from the noises, goosebumps traveling fast down his spine, down his arms, all his hair on end.

Steve stumbles his way through the dark, hands out in front of him, feet catching and tripping on roots and broken branches. He feels his chest go tight and he tries to breathe through the panic; he hasn't had a proper attack in months and he doesn't want to have one now.

But there's the _crack_ of wood breaking behind him. Steve chokes on his next inhale and that's all his body needs. It trips into a cycle, of not enough air and too much fear, and he's choking, _wheezing_ , tripping through the forest until something _catches_ and Steve _falls._

He hits the ground _hard_ , hands out in front of himself, and _yelps_ when he feels something _snap_. The pain is sharp, instant, and makes his vision go fuzzy.

In the next second, it's _gone_ , his left arm numb as he rolls over onto his back and moans, cradling it to his chest. He sobs, when his breath doesn't even out, and then scuttles up until his back is pressed to the trunk of a tree as he squeezes his eyes shut tight and focuses on his breathing and not on the throbbing, aching _nothing_ he has in his left arm.

He wishes someone were here. He kind of wishes _Billy_ was here.

But he's not.

With his eyes closed for a moment, his own breath is loud and echoing in his ears. He gathers himself to the count of three.

When he gets there, he staggers to his feet again and books it. Not quite at a run, but a jog. He pushes past branches and twigs and bushes, on and on, until his feet hit something soft, something that gives. Something so unlike the crunch of dead leaves underneath.

He stops, stumbling until he's standing still.

The unease, the dread, the _fear_ \-- it's all just _gone_.

Even in the dim light, Steve knows where he is. Can hear the slow trickle of the stream. Can see the vast, clear space between the trees.

Steve's knees practically buckle. He goes down, careful, and presses his forehead to the earth. Breathes slow.

Now that he's still, he can feel the bite of cold against the sweat of his skin. Can feel the throbbing heat in his arm.

He sobs again. Eyes wet and burning.

And it's stupid, but he's _relieved_. Relieved to find this place again, even alone and in the dark, because he feels _safe_ here.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes.

The forest doesn't answer him. All Steve gets are the sounds of the clearing and a dizzying sense of calm.

With the adrenaline fading fast, with his his head swimming in a mix of relief and fear, Steve knows he won't be leaving this place in the dark. He knows he should probably move for more cover, prop himself against a tree, try and make a fire, _something_.

But he doesn't. Instead, he rolls onto his side, baring his teeth at the rush of pain, and sniffles as he curls in on himself.

He needs to move. He knows he does. He _will_. He just needs to close his eyes for a second.

-*-


	4. i come back changed

-*-

When Steve wakes, he can still feel the phantom press of lips against his neck, his jaw, his forehead.

He blinks his eyes open to the dawn, moss coming into focus on front of his face.

_Oh, the clearing,_ he thinks.

The second he moves, the pain hits him.

_Oh, his arm_.

He pushes himself up with his other hand, getting his bearings. It _is_ Billy's clearing. Dotted with light and ferns and mushrooms -- and a few small white flowers growing just a few feet away.

Steve would take the time to admire it. To maybe go over and touch them.

But he has to leave. He's been out in the cold for too long. He can feel it, in how his joints are stiff and his skin is clammy.

Gritting his teeth, he pushes to his feet. He keeps his arm close to his chest, winces as he wraps his other hand around where the pain is the worst, and holds it steady.

At least, in the light of day, he'll be able to see where he's going.

The walk is always shorter during the day.

He's not expecting to run into police at the edge of the forest.

At least it's Hop he hits first.

“ _Harrington?_ Tell me that's not you.”

“Hop?” Steve feels weak at the sight of him, throat suddenly tight, skin suddenly _burning._ “What are you doing out here?”

“What are _you_ doing out here?” Hop says, eyes roaming all over Harrington, searching. It's not a _good_ sign, Steve knows. He feels too assessed, too watched.

Hops eyes land on Steve's arm, cradled against his chest.

“Are you hurt?”

Steve's throat works as he nods. “I think I broke something.”

Hopper sighs and rolls his eyes. “Come with me. When did you get out here?”

Steve isn’t sure how _all miserable night_ isn’t obvious, but when Hop starts guiding Steve toward the road and his truck, Steve has a moment to look down at himself. At his clean clothes, at everything free of rips, tears, mud, or even scraps of dead leaves. There’s nothing to suggest that Steve spent the night in the woods, nothing to suggest that he fell or slept on the ground. He looks like he just now walked into the forest to see the sights.

“Did you find another body?” Steve finds himself asking, frowning down at his shoes.

“We did,” Hop says. “Get in the car, Harrington.”

Steve doesn't hesitate to follow, nodding slow. “Thanks, Hop.”

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” Hop says. “That looks broken. While we’re driving, you can tell me about exactly _why_ I found you out in the woods right after we found another body.”

Steve doesn't argue. Just lets Hop help him into the cab of his truck and sits there while he rounds the hood.

His body is shaking, trembling, and he knows it must be the shock because he doesn't feel cold at all. He feels _hot_ , all over, burning up.

When he looks out the windshield, back to the forest, there at the edges he sees it. All long limbs, tall, hiding in the shadows between trees, eyes vivid and gold, antlers like stripped bone clawing toward the sky. The thing that's been watching him, haunting him, hunting him. He _knows_ it.

Hop opens the door and climbs in, reaching for him, feeling his head. Steve doesn't look away from the thing, feels his jaw lock and his stomach clench, fear like tar in his gut.

Steve blinks and it’s still there, just distorted a little. Like a blot of ink, running over wet paper.

“Jesus, Harrington, you're burning up.”

Hopper digs under his seat, pulling out a blanket, draping it around Steve.

“Do you see it?” Steve asks, between his teeth. Eyes still out the window.

Steve can hear Hop shift, can imagine Hop looking out the window next to him, eyes trying to focus on what Steve’s looking at.

“There’s nothing there,” Hop says, slow. “What do you see?”

The thing is tall, so goddamn tall. Lanky and gnarled and yet so sturdy, like an ancient, twisted tree. The eyes blink at Steve and its face shifts, antlers arching and growing up and up and up toward the sky, toward the canopy.

“I don't know,” Steve whispers, pressing back in his seat. “I don't-- Hop, get me-- _please_ , get me out of here--”

“Okay, kid,” Hop says, but the car is already moving, already pulling away from the woods.

Steve can’t quite look away, eyes stuck on that shape at the treeline, neck craning even as they move past the point where Steve can see it. But they still have to drive along next to the woods, still have to pass rows and rows of trees to get to the main road. They can’t escape it, the darkness of the trees, the chill of the forest in the early morning.

Steve still feels the eyes on him, still feels like he’s being watched, until the road spits them out of the forest and into the sprawling suburbs. It’s only then that Steve feels like he can breathe again.

He starts shaking apart the second they're clear. Leans over and curls in on himself, panting between his knees.

He jumps when Hop reaches over and claps a hand to his shoulder, squeezing. “You're okay, kid. We're gonna get you fixed up. But I need you to tell me how long you were out there.”

“All night,” Steve whispers. “I was-- I got lost and my light went out and-- I was out there _all night_.”

“Jesus,” Hop says. After a moment of stagnant silence, he says, “Someone _died_ last night, Harrington. You’re lucky it wasn’t you.”

Steve doesn't feel lucky. He feels _sick_.

“Who?” he asks.

“One of the engineers on the Brenner project,” Hopper says.

Steve winces. “Shit. Where? At the construction site again? I wasn't-- I promise, I wasn't anywhere near there--”

“A little further into the woods,” Hop says. “But still nearby. Where were _you_?”

“There's-- there's this _clearing_ out there,” Steve says, sitting up, sweating through his clothes, teeth chattering, and Hopper frowns at him and feels his head again with one hand. “After my light went out, I panicked. Tried to get out in the dark, fell and-- and-- and then when I got up I just kept running and I found it, I'd been there before, and I just-- I was just _exhausted_ all of a sudden, so I laid down, I didn't mean to fall asleep, Hop, I was just _exhausted_ \--”

“You’ve got a pretty high fever, Harrington. You were probably sick before you got into the woods and it hit while you were out there.”

Steve watches the buildings pass as they fly by them. His arm barely even _hurts_ , he’s so goddamn tired.

After a long stretch of silence, Hop says: “Don’t think I’ve ever seen much of a clearing in those woods, they’re pretty dense. Show me sometime?”

“Just say when, Hop.” Steve says. “Just-- maybe after I get a cast on my arm.”

“Maybe you get over that fever of yours,” Hop says.

It doesn’t sound much like idle curiosity, though. It feels strange, knowing something about the woods that even Hopper doesn’t know.

“Okay,” Steve says, throat working. “I'm sorry, Hop.”

“ _Don’t_ go out into the woods, again, kid,” is all Hop says.

“I won't,” Steve says, and he thinks he means it, that blurry figure staring at him in his head, fear still a cold knot in his chest. “I won't, Hop.”

At the end of the day, Steve has a cast and a fever that makes it hurt to blink.

Hop leaves him home at his empty house and Steve barely has a chance to feel alone before he falls asleep, exhausted, on his couch.

-*-

If he dreams, he doesn't remember any of them.

-*-

Steve wakes again, sometime in the early dawn, to someone knocking on his door. He doesn't know anyone who knocks on his door. Usually, people just barge right in.

Steve blinks slow. He's a little tangled in his sling. The meds the doctor gave him are wearing off. He pops a few and swallows dry as he pushes up off the couch and adjusts the strap hanging over his shoulder as he pads over to the foyer.

The person behind it keeps knocking.

Steve frowns when he opens it. “Dustin?”

“You're alive!”

Steve grunts as Dustin rushes him, wrapping his arms around him, burying his face against Steve's chest. Outside, on the stoop, Jane and Mike are hovering.

“Jane said Hopper found you wandering around in the woods. _Alone_.” Dustin says, words half muffled against Steve's shirt.

Steve pats his back. “Yeah. I was stupid.”

“You _are_ stupid!” Dustin says, pulling back to glare at Steve. “We _always_ make sure to go into the woods with a buddy. Where was your buddy, Steve?”

Steve winces. “I'm kinda not talking to my buddy, right now.”

“Okay, but you’ve got, like, so _many_ buddies.” Dustin says, like _any_ of Steve’s friends know he goes traipsing through the forest at night. Like any of them know what he does with Billy. Like he would drag any of them out there after what happened with Barb.

“I know,” Steve says. “Like I said: I was stupid. Don't you guys have school?”

“Closed today because of the killings. Apparently people are a little _panicked._ ”

“Do your parents know you're here?” Steve frowns.

“Nancy knows we came to check on you,” Mike says. “Which means everybody is probably gonna be coming over.”

Steve sighs. “I have a fever, you know. You guys could catch it.”

“Whatever,” Dustin says. “Worth it. Can I order pizza?” he asks, pushing his way past Steve and into the house, Jane and Mike following after.

“Yeah,” Steve says, shutting the door behind them. “Extra pepperoni, please.”

“You’ve got it, my man,” Dustin says.

In the end, everyone shows up. Nancy and Jonathan first, and then the rest of the kids. Carol and Tommy roll in by dinner time, bringing ice cream and the makings for floats. Even with extra cherries.

Everyone shows up. Except for Billy.

-*-

When he goes to sleep that night on the couch, surrounded by his friends and pillows and blankets, he can't help but feel like something is peering in through the glass outside.

He's too doped up to look, though.

-*-

The painkillers knock him out and keep him from dreaming. He feels more rested when he finally goes back to class than he has since Barb died.

It's probably why he trusts himself enough to sit next to Billy in history. Tommy's not even there to guilt him into it.

“Hey,” he says and feels a little dumb about it.

“Hey?” Billy says, sounding just as confused as Steve feels.

“Um,” Steve falters and then digs into his pocket, pulling out a marker. “Did you want to sign my cast? Everyone else has.”

Billy raises an eyebrow. “Do you _want_ me to sign your cast?”

Steve shrugs, marker still out to him. “You done being a dickhead?”

Billy takes the marker between two of his fingers. “I’m _always_ a dickhead.” But then he shrugs. “I think the question still stands. What do you _want_? Do you want my name on your arm?”

“No,” Steve says, smiling when Billy starts to frown, and he places the bulky cast over Billy's desk. “I want you to write down what time you're coming over to my place tonight. I'm making tuna casserole. We're going to talk.”

Billy blinks. It feels kinda _good_ to have shocked him into something nonverbal, at least for a moment.

Then, Billy carefully takes Steve's cast in his hand and writes.

When he gets it back, it says: _7:30 -X._

Steve tilts his head. “X?”

“Well, you said you didn't want my name on your cast.”

Steve hums, tucking his arm back into his sling. “Alright. Seven thirty, then.”

“How'd you break it?” Billy asks, passing the pen back.

“In the woods,” Steve says, pulling out his notebook for class. “Tripped and fell. Landed wrong.”

“Shit,” Billy says. “Wish I could've been there.”

“Not your fault,” Steve says, and then hesitates. “I heard some weird shit out there. Saw some, too.”

“Oh? _Wait_ ,” Billy says. “You weren't out there the night of the murder, were you?”

“Yeah,” Steve says.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Billy says. “Did you see it? The body, I mean?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “No, and I haven't seen the pictures, either. Don't really want to.”

“Rumor has it that it's kinda weird,” Billy says. “Half like the other two that they found, half -- not.”

Steve frowns. “What do you mean?”

Billy shrugs. “Donno. Heard it was like, half decayed or whatever. Not like the other bodies, which were like, so crumbling that the coroner didn't even know what to do with them. Word got out that this guy still had a face. Or most of one, anyway.”

“Oh,” Steve says, something twisting in his belly, and he remembers that creature, at the edge of the forest, staring at him.

He shudders.

“That's… creepy.”

“Guess it is. I think it's more weird, than anything.” Billy leans on his desk, eyes on Steve. “If you didn't see that, what _did_ you see?”

Steve swallows. “Nothing real. I had a really bad fever. Mind kept playing tricks on me.”

“But it spooked you.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “It definitely spooked me.”

“You feeling better now?” Billy asks.

Steve nods, clicking open a pen as the professor walks in. “Wouldn't be here if I didn't.”

But it's kind of a lie.

-*-

Billy shows up at 7:30 on the dot. He doesn’t let himself in -- instead, he rings the _doorbell_.

Steve finds him on the other side looking more put together than he’s ever _seen_ Billy, like someone’s ironed all the wrinkles out of him.

“Hey,” Billy says.

Before Steve can say _anything_ , Billy’s holding out a bundle of purple hyacinths, stems wrapped up in a thin vine. Steve blinks at them, thinks maybe he should've put on something other than jeans and the shirt easiest to get around his cast, and steps aside to let him in.

“Thank you,” he says, taking them carefully.

“Anytime,” Billy says, and Steve feels like he means it. “Whatever you’re making smells _awesome_.”

Billy moves in and lingers, instead of pushing his way into the kitchen or living room or -- wherever.

“It's just tuna casserole,” Steve says, shutting the door and locking it-- a new habit, locking things and keeping the lights on-- before brushing by. “I'll find something to put these in.”

“It's still home cooked,” Billy says. “I'm not much for cooking.”

“But you make a mean pancake,” Steve says, as Billy follows him into the kitchen, grabbing a vase from one of the cabinets and placing the bouquet in it; he touches his fingers to the purple petals. “These are really pretty.”

“Pancakes are easy. So is everything else breakfast. Dinner? I’m useless,” Billy says. Probably because making a good breakfast makes a better pick-up line, but he doesn’t _say_ that.

Billy slides into a chair at the island, blue eyes on Steve.

Steve tries not to let his hair stand on end as he works under that gaze. First, he fills the vase with water and sets it on the counter. Then, he checks on the casserole. And finally, he gets out two beers from the fridge, popping them open, and setting one on the counter for Billy.

“Thanks for coming over,” Steve says.

“As if I could say no to you,” Billy says.

He takes a sip of beer, and then another, like he’s parched. Or, maybe, like he’s _nervous._

“You could. You _can_.” Steve says, shrugging. “I'd be a hypocrite if I tried to say you couldn't.”

“Okay,” Billy says. “Then: I don’t _want_ to say no to you.”

Steve stares at him for a second and then clears his throat, glancing away. “Okay, well… you don't _have_ to do that. Just so you know. I'm not, like, gonna hold it against you.”

“Please, you’d _love_ to have something to hold against me,” Billy says.

“Pretty sure I've got that covered already, remember?” Steve says, moving to check on the casserole again. “Which is actually why I wanted you to come over tonight.”

“I know,” Billy says. “You wanna talk. What do you wanna say?”

“I wanna fuck you,” Steve says, point blank, pulling out an oven mitt from one of the drawers, and turns to face Billy again, resting his hip against the edge of the counter. “And I'm pretty sure you wanna fuck me. But-- I think you're right. If you want more and I'm still uncertain, it could end up… messy. So. Dinner. Maybe multiple.”

Billy looks a little blindsided, even though he had to have been expecting something like this.

“You wanna, like, test the waters?” he finally asks. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“If that's something you're interested in.”

“Yes,” Billy says, seriously. Maybe, a little nervously, too, like all his confidence and bravado evaporated the second he handed the flowers over.

“Okay,” Steve nods, holding out the oven mitts. “Help me out, then? I'm kind of one handed.”

Billy pushes out of his chair and rounds the counter to help out. He slides the mitts on, opens the oven, and takes out the casserole, setting it on the stove for Steve.

When he finishes, he leans back, supporting his weight against the counter, hand still in the mitt.

“I’ve never dated anyone before,” Billy says.

“Never?” Steve asks, pulling out two plates. “We have to let it set for a minute.”

“Never,” Billy says, shrugging.

“So you, what, slept around your whole life and decided I'm the one to break the chain?” Steve asks.

Billy hums. He leans even further back against the counter, until Steve knows the cold marble must be pressing up against his lower back, right at the divots of his hips. Regardless of how he moves, though, Billy’s eyes stay on Steve.

“If you wanna put it like that, sure. Or, you could say that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and it’s new.”

“That's…” Steve frowns, shaking his head. “I mean, it's totally insane, but… I think I understand where you're coming from.”

“Why’s it totally insane?” Billy asks, head tilting to the side as he looks at Steve. “Was Nancy the first person you fell in love with?” When Steve makes a face, Billy puts his hands up. “I’m just saying. There’s a first time for everything.”

“A first time for falling in love,” Steve repeats back, a little slow. “And for you, you think that's me?”

Billy swallows. “It’s a _comparison_.”

“Right,” Steve says, looking away and gathering up the dishes to set the table. “Okay. We'll take it slow, then.”

It feels _heavy_ , though. Like the weight of a confession Steve hadn’t been expecting, permeating the air around them.

“You want me to serve it?” Billy asks.

“Please,” Steve says.

Soon, they’re sitting at the table, food steaming in front of them, Billy digging in _immediately_ , like he’s starving.

“So good,” Billy says, mouth still a little bit full.

Steve hides his grin into his glass, utterly _pleased_ as Billy works his way through one serving and then starts on another.

“I'm glad you like it.”

“Thanks for making me dinner,” he says, after another hearty bite and a few long gulps of beer. “Thanks for -- inviting me back.”

“Yeah, well--" Steve shrugs. “I was mad at you. But I don't stay mad forever. Figured you had your reasons and you gave me space, so.”

Billy shrugs. “The world isn't so forgiving.”

“I am,” Steve says. “Why hold a grudge about it? It's exhausting.”

“You're an interesting person, Harrington. I'd hold a grudge forever, if given a chance.”

“Here's to hoping you won't need to,” Steve holds out his beer.

Their bottles clink together in something that sounds a little bit like hope.

-*-

They finish up dinner not long after that. Billy insists on cleaning and putting everything away, citing the fact that Steve's injured and that he's the one that made dinner.

Steve sits on the counter and watches, picking at the label on his beer as Billy scrubs the dishes in the sink. Steve stares at the muscles in his back, bunching and working under the soft material of his shirt, and Steve's tempted to press his hand there and _feel_ it.

He hasn't dated in a while, either. Not since Nancy, really, and he thinks Billy knows that.

“We're going to the movies this weekend,” Steve says. “The group, I mean.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Billy says. “Or are you telling me to avoid the theater because Tommy and Carol will probably be fucking in the back row?”

Steve grins. “Both, I guess.”

Billy looks like he's _thinking_ about it, which knocks Steve a little bit sideways -- he figured Billy would _jump_ at the chance for another date. But it takes him a good minute to finally nod and say, “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“Okay,” Steve nods. “Cool. So. I guess I'll walk you to the door?”

“No walk in the woods?” Billy asks, but he's already drying off his hands, looking a little confused.

Steve goes still, breath stalling. Something _cold_ uncurls in his chest and there's a phantom pain in his arm and he shakes his head before he can think about it.

Because in his head, all he sees is that creature watching him. All he sees is those antlers, gnarled and cloying, reaching up toward the sky.

“Um. No. No, I don't think-- that's not a good idea.”

“Hey,” Billy says, and suddenly he's right there, hand curling around Steve's unbroken arm, warm and solid. And it's suddenly so glaring that Billy's been avoiding touching him, giving him space, now that he's so _close_. “You okay, baby?”

“Yeah, I just-- last time I was out there, I kinda broke my arm, so.”

“You looked _scared_ , pretty boy,” Billy says.

Steve gives him a tight smile. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you why.”

“Okay, well,” Billy says. “I'm all ears if you wanna talk. But if you don't want to, that's fine.”

Steve hunts over his face for a second. Feels the warmth of his hand on his arm, thumb stroking back and forth. Finds nothing but _patience_ there.

“There's--" Steve sighs. “There's _something_ out there. I think. Or-- or I just-- I guess I _saw_ something, watching me, but I mean I was pretty fucked up, so. So, I just… don't want to go out there again. Just in case.”

“There's nothing in the woods that's gonna hurt you,” Billy says, patiently.

Comfortingly.

If only he _knew._ If only he had _seen_ what Steve saw.

“Yeah, there's a killer or something on the loose, so forgive me if I don't buy that.” Steve says, not unkindly, just a little dry.

“Rumor has it they've only targeted people working on the project or whatever. Pretty boy like you's got nothing to worry about.”

But he doesn't know about _Barb_. Or he does, but, like everyone else, he doesn't think they're connected.

“I don't know if that's true,” Steve says.

Billy tilts his head again, confused. “What do you mean?”

Steve shrugs. “I just… don't think we should eliminate the possibility that whoever or whatever is killing people is that… picky.”

“Or _whatever_?” Billy asks, intrigued. “So -- you’re with the kids on this one? That there’s a monster?”

“I don't know,” Steve says, a little pitched. “I mean, what _human_ could-- I mean, it's _impossible.”_

“Wasn't that lab working on all kinds of fucked up stuff? I'm sure there's chemicals that could do all kinds of weird shit to bodies.”

“I don't _know_ ,” Steve says again. “But I know I'm not going back out there. At least not at night.”

“Well, if you ever want company,” Billy says. “I'm your man.”

Steve's brows go up. “My man, huh?”

“I mean, I'm _trying,”_ Billy says.

“Tonight went pretty well for preliminaries, I think.”

“Did it?” Billy says, and he sounds legitimately serious. And maybe he really _is_ new to all of this.

“I think so,” Steve nods. “A little stiff-- but we'll work through that.”

Billy nods and then looks a little _relieved_. “Jesus, you too? At least it wasn’t just _me_.”

He steps back a bit, balances himself against the opposite counter.

“We talked about nature,” he says. “It’s in my nature to just go for what I want. It’s hard. It’s _especially_ hard, knowing you want me too.”

“So, what, you're just too preoccupied thinking of all the things you wanna do to have a conversation?” Steve asks, grin crooked.

“Well,” Billy says, “not _exactly_.” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to drive you away.”

“Because you like me,” Steve says, but it sounds a bit like a question.

“Because I like you,” Billy agrees. “And because you’re kind of a _particular_ about me being a dick, too.”

“You frustrate me,” Steve admits, with surprising ease. “Sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a not so good way.”

“I can work with that,” Billy says, taking a step toward Steve. “Preferably leaning more toward it being in a good way.”

“You're doing great so far.”

“Yeah? Don't think I've done all that much for myself tonight,” he says, taking another step.

“Then do something for yourself,” Steve says. “I don't want you to hold back.”

Billy hums as he steps into Steve's space. For a moment, Steve can't help but think back to when they first met, to when Billy was always pressing up into his space, getting fiercely cozy. It's like that again, now -- but there's something hesitant about it, something softer.

“A few minutes ago you were offering to show me your _door_ , pretty boy.” Billy reaches out and brushes his knuckles against Steve's chin, making his skin _sing_.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “But I figured if you didn't kiss me goodnight on your own, that would be a good opportunity for me to push you in the right direction.”

Billy makes a noise in his throat. “Think if I kissed you, baby, you'd have a _real_ hard time getting rid of me, then.”

He's so close Steve can practically feel Billy's breath on his lips.

Steve tilts his head a little, bumps his nose to Billy's. He reaches up with his good hand, fingers wrapping loose around Billy's wrist.

“Can't handle one little kiss?” Steve asks.

And Billy _grins_ like he's delighted. Like he _loves_ that Steve knows him well enough to challenge him.

“I can handle anything you throw at me,” Billy says.

Steve barely has a chance to blink before there's lips on his own, Billy leaning forward and taking, slotting their lips together in a kiss. Steve sucks in a sharp breath, fingers twitching, body winding tight for the fraction of a second it takes him to realize his mouth is _burning_.

Then, he groans, leaning forward into it, eyes falling heavy, one kiss leading to another leading to another. Simple, almost _sweet_ , feeling each other out. Testing the waters.

Better than that biting, punishing, mean kiss of a thing they shared before.

Steve _lights up_ inside.

Billy presses forward and so does Steve, the two of them sliding into each other’s space. Learning, enjoying, giving.

There's a bit of an edge to it, because everything Billy does is a little sharp, a little rough, but it's so strangely gentle, so surprisingly _kind_. Steve melts right into it. Moves his hand to slide along Billy's jaw, parts his lips as Billy's hands find his thighs, moans and tries to press _closer_ \--

It's the sling jerking as he tries to wrap himself around Billy that brings him back. The way his arm gets trapped between their chests. He pulls back laughing, wiggling his fingers, ears and cheeks and neck all pink.

“Sorry--”

Billy's fingers graze against the skin of Steve's lower back, tucked up under his shirt. When did they even _get_ there?

Billy looks none too sorry, nor regretful. His eyes are dark and his lips are red when he smiles. “Why are you apologizing?”

“This stupid thing,” Steve holds up the cast. “Kinda ruined the moment, there.”

“As if anything could ruin that,” Billy says, leaning forward to steal another kiss, a little slow and a little hot, too.

Steve curls his hand at Billy's nape, fingers tangled in the mess of curls there. Lets Billy draw out one kiss and then lead him to another. Hums and squeezes at Billy's sides with his knees.

There’s no more space for Billy to eat up, just some of Steve’s to gain, even though Steve’s not letting him take an inch, as he gets the feeling Billy’ll turn it into a mile. Not that that would necessarily be _bad_ , Steve spread out on the counter on his back -- _but_.

But. Well. There’s probably a good reason _not_ to let Billy do that, but Steve can’t really _think_ of one, not with Billy sucking on his tongue, not with Billy’s hands creeping up Steve’s back, fingertips digging in next to his spine.

Steve groans. Spreads his legs a little and tries to get closer. The damn cast keeps getting in the way.

He hisses as he pulls back, Billy leaning like he might chase the sound right back to his mouth. “This would be a hell of a lot easier if my arm wasn’t broken.”

“I don’t think,” Billy says, bending to press a kiss to Steve’s jaw, and then his neck, “that there would be any problem with your arm if you laid back and let me take care of you.”

Steve huffs out a breathy laugh, head tilting back, heat burning through him at the offer. “God, that-- _jesus_ , Billy--”

“Do you want that?” Billy asks, voice full of heat, full of fire. His teeth are at Steve’s throat, just grazing, tongue darting out to taste the skin. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“ _God_ ,” Steve moans, fingers flexing over the base of Billy’s skull and then tightening in his hair, words a contrast with the way he arches and pulls Billy closer. “Yeah, I-- I _do_ \-- but. But also, maybe-- maybe not on the first date.”

Billy doesn’t stop kissing his neck, doesn’t stop dragging his teeth over hot skin.

“Maybe not or definitely not?” Billy asks, voice low.

He doesn’t _sound_ like the Billy from earlier, hesitant and maybe a little nervous. He sounds sure, sounds animalistic. He sounds _hungry_ , like a predator who’s gotten the taste for blood.

“Maybe,” Steve pants, shuddering.

“Let’s get you more comfortable,” Billy says. “Then you can decide, huh?”

He gets his arms around Steve, hands sliding under his ass, and picks him up. Steve yelps, barely even having to wrap his legs around Billy’s hips tighter to stay upright -- Billy’s _strong_. It takes him zero time to get Steve situated and then take the few long strides it takes to get to the living room. Steve barely even has time to think about it before Billy deposits him on the couch and then crawls on top of him, straddling Steve around the hips, bending forward to catch Steve in another kiss.

Steve gasps against his mouth. Strains a little, up to meet him. Feels heat and heat and heat. Feels like it’s eating him up, more and more, every time he loses Billy’s mouth against his.

Billy kisses him for a long time, sturdy weight pressing him down against the couch, fingers threading carefully through Steve’s hair, hips rolling down, down, down. He can barely breathe by the time Billy pulls off, by the time Billy’s pushing sweaty hair out of his face.

“Will you let me take care of you?” Billy asks.

Steve’s throat works, his lips tingling. He nods. Dumb, dazed, _drugged_.

He reaches up, with his good hand, and tugs Billy back down for another kiss. “Help me get this stupid sling off.”

Billy kisses him for a moment and then pulls back, gently freeing Steve from the confines of the sling. When he’s free, Billy kisses him again.

Steve sighs into his mouth, tilting his head over, licking past Billy’s lips. His hips lurch up, and he fumbles a little with the cast and then gives up and lets it rest somewhere over his head near the armrest of the couch. He grips at Billy’s jaw with his other hand, trying to keep him close, to make sure he doesn’t get away.

Billy smiles into the kiss and nips at Steve’s bottom lip.

Steve misses it as Billy shifts and reaches down between them, until Billy’s palm is cupping Steve through his pants, grinding and pressing down until he pulls a gasp from Steve’s lips.

Billy looks like he’s _won_ something.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve’s head falls back, eyes fluttering, pleasure like an electric shock.

Billy palms him like that until Steve is aching, until he’s squirming underneath the weight of Billy’s hips holding his thighs down.

“You’re like a goddamn _gift_ ,” Billy says. “All pretty and perfect and just for me to play with.”

Steve laughs a little, half hysteric, half _lost_. Moans when Billy squeezes, and he rocks into his palm for just a little more friction.

“We should--” Steve’s tongue feels heavy, tied, pleasure a burning distraction. “We should slow down, maybe.”

Billy’s pupils are blown when he looks at Steve, eyes so dark they’re nearly black, all the blue eaten up by desire.

“ _Why_?” Billy asks, and he doesn’t squeeze again, but he does draw his fingers over the shape of Steve’s length over his pants, teasing.

Steve can’t help but whine, toes curling, and he bucks a little before shuddering back down. “Um. Well, it’s just-- _god_ , I can’t think with your hand on my dick.”

“Yeah, _well,”_ Billy says, but his hand doesn't move, just provides something nice for Steve to buck against. “The point was for me to take care of you, not for you to _think_.”

“Yeah, but--” Steve wets his lips, because he _wants_ and he wants _bad_. “We just said-- tonight, we just said, it could get messy if we-- if we just-- jump right in--”

“Baby,” Billy says, and his eyes are _so_ goddamn dark. “Let me make it messy. Let me take care of you.”

He keeps saying that. Steve can’t help but think he means more than this, more than now, and it’s a little terrifying. A little fantastic.

“Okay, but--”

“But what?” Billy asks, and he’s cupping Steve’s cock again, palm grinding down teasingly.

“But, um… but…” Steve blinks a few times, gasps out, hips jerking. “But maybe we should-- we should just take it down a notch, or-- not rush, we shouldn’t rush.”

“I wanna eat you up,” Billy says. “Don’t have to go all the way. Don’t have to give me anything at all -- just let me do this for you, baby.”

Steve swallows once, twice, and squirms. His toes curl as he arches, and his mind crests on pleasure and on the sensory memory of dreams where Billy did just that. Ate him up. _Devoured him_.

For a second, it takes his breath away.

“Wait,” Steve breathes, reaching for Billy’s wrist with his free hand. “Wait, wait, wait.”

Billy stops. Just like that, fingers curling into stillness over Steve’s cock, dragging just slightly over the fabric of his pants.

“I’m waiting,” Billy says. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Steve takes one, slow breath. He gives Billy’s wrist a little tug, shifting on the couch, scooching up a little underneath him, awkward and fumbling.

When Billy frowns, brow pinching, a question on his face, Steve pauses long enough to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Just, um… just c’mere.” Steve says, once he’s propped back against the armrest, breathless, but soft and coaxing like Billy might rabbit away now that Steve’s drawn them to a stand still.

“What do you want?” Billy asks, looking just as unmoored as Steve thought he might. Lost. “Anything you want, baby. I’ll give you anything.”

“Billy--” Steve sighs, smile a bit fond, and he tries to coax Billy closer, using his bulky, casted hand and everything. “Just come _here_.”

“I’m right _here_ ,” Billy says, leaning in to kiss Steve on the lips. It helps that Steve’s pulling him down with the cast on the back of his neck, anchoring him in, keeping him from zooming off.

Steve keeps him there, keeps him steady, and as they kiss he drags it out. Slows it down. Keeps the press of their mouths chaste and simple and sweet.

Brings the fire that had burning between them back down to a low simmer.

“Easy,” Steve mumbles against his mouth. “Just like this.”

Billy looks _confused_.

But he kisses Steve all the same, a little slow, a little tentative. Panting hard, like he can barely breathe.

“Easy,” Steve says again, guiding him with a hand on his jaw, settling beneath the weight of Billy with a satisfied little hum. “All I want is for you to kiss me. That good with you?”

Billy looks _lost_.

But he nods and says, “Okay,” and kisses Steve slow, body a little tense and unsure.

“Unless you don’t want to?” Steve asks, between kisses. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, Billy.”

“I _obviously_ want to kiss you,” Billy says.

But he looks like he’s trying to scramble into something slower, going sixty to zero in less than a second and getting whiplash from it. And maybe, _maybe_ not doing the best job of it, given how tight his body is, how his hips keep wanting to grind _down_.

Steve lets him move. Doesn’t stop him from shifting, adjusting, kissing him slow all the while. Runs his fingers along Billy’s jaw, across his collar bone, down his chest. Touches and soothes and hums as their noses bump a little.

As he touches him, he feels Billy’s muscles bunch and relax. Like he’s fighting something right under his skin.

Then, he offers Billy a hint of teeth that makes him _jolt_.

“See?” Steve laughs a little, against his mouth. “Taking it slow makes it a little sweeter.”

It's like taming a wild animal. Just as rewarding, too, as Billy starts panting into his mouth.

“Baby,” Billy says, “ _Steve_ ,” and this time it sounds more like a plea and less like a tease. Like Steve's got the reins and Billy's no longer pulling him toward the center of a storm.

Steve cards his fingers through the mess of Billy’s curls. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“You're _killing_ me,” he says, but he sounds _pleased as punch_ about it.

“You’ll survive,” Steve promises. “If you stay the night, you have to keep your hands from tempting me or sleep in the guest room.”

“You want me to stay the night?” Billy asks, pressing his lips to Steve's jaw, _sweet._

_“Mostly_ I just don't want to see that kicked puppy look on your face if I suggest walking you to the door, again.”

“I told you that you'd have a hard time getting rid of me,” Billy says, cheeky.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.” Steve mutters, turning his head, catching Billy’s mouth again. “Good thing I don’t exactly _want_ to get rid of you.”

“Good thing, that,” Billy says, and kisses Steve slow and sweet. “I don’t want you to get rid of me either.”

-*-

Waking with Billy Hargrove in his bed is _wild_.

He’s half naked-- Steve’s pretty sure that he would’ve climbed between Steve’s sheets _completely_ naked if Steve hadn’t been so insistent on taking things _slow_. Steve keeps a pair of boxers and a t-shirt on.

He still wakes with Billy’s hand half rucked under the cotton, splayed over his belly. It makes Steve shudder, shift, and groan a little.

Billy stirs, but only enough to wrap himself around Steve a little more, curling around him, warm with sleep and softer than usual, edges dulled by the morning light. Steve lets him tuck in close; curls right into him too. Presses his nose into Billy’s curls and breathes slow.

When he first met Billy Hargrove, a moment like this seemed impossible. Inadvisable, even, to imagine.

Now, it’s just as crazy, but _tangible_ , with Billy breathing away in Steve’s space, as warm as a furnace.

It’s easy to drift like this, feeling comfortable and safe and _wanted_ , and so Steve lets himself. He closes his eyes to the sight of Billy’s fingers drifting over Steve’s stomach in his sleep and lets himself dream.

The clearing in the woods comes to him so easily.

Like a place he’s been a thousand times.

His feet are bare and he’s still in the clothes that he slept in, but despite that, the bite of autumn doesn’t bother him at all. It’s not that there’s the heat of summer in the air, warm and encompassing -- it’s just that he’s _comfortable_ , like he’s walking through the place as it always is in his dreams, entirely unaffected by time or weather or season.

His feet sink into the cool, loamy comfort of the moss as he walks. He feels it, soft and yielding, underneath his feet. Green, so green and alive next to his toes.

As he walks, morning glories sprout to life underneath his feet. Dozens of them with each step. Growing and blooming and flourishing.

Steve doesn’t startle when he feels familiar fingers slip into his own. He doesn’t need to look to his right to see Billy there, but he does anyway.

Just because he can.

-*-


	5. the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end notes for dubcon warning for this chapter

-*-

“Baby,” Billy says, and Steve feels lips right underneath his ear. Feels breath on his neck. Feels fingers in his hair. “Baby, wake up. You’ve got class today.”

Steve sighs; he definitely doesn't want to be awake, let alone go to class. “Five more minutes.”

“It’s like, ten,” Billy says.

He’s making a real good case for Steve waking up, with hot lips drifting down Steve’s neck, pressing lazy, slow kisses as he makes his way down -- but not _much_ of a case for Steve getting out of bed.

“I like sleeping in,” Steve mumbles, head lulling over.

“Yeah,” Billy says. “But you’ve got class at eleven, right?”

Steve huffs. “Yeah, but you didn't have to remind me.”

“You could just not go,” Billy says, pressing another kiss to Steve’s skin.

Steve moans, stretching, soft and slow. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

“King Steve,” Billy says. “Am I allowed to treat you like a king yet? Or do you have to feed me again?”

Steve frowns but doesn't stop the slow, idle stretch of his body under the sweet attention of Billy's mouth. “I have no idea if you're even speaking English, right now.”

Billy chuckles, but it’s mostly just a soft breath against Steve’s skin. “Can I blow you,” he says crudely, “or are you gonna tell me we gotta wait, again? Gotta take it slow?”

Steve groans, shifting to roll away from Billy's wandering hands, from his evil mouth and those sinful promises. “What did I say about _tempting_ me?”

“I don’t remember,” Billy says. “It’s all kinda foggy. Remind me?”

“Don't do it,” Steve breathes, sighs really, as Billy kisses that place just beneath his ear. “I won't be able to say no.”

“I don’t want you to just _not say no_ \-- I want you to say _yes_ ,” Billy says, tongue running along the shell of Steve’s ear.

Steve _quakes_ , breath leaving him for a second. “You're _such_ a fucking cheater.”

“Maybe,” Billy says. “But you’re not really _complaining_.”

“No,” Steve says, relaxing into him when Billy tugs him close. “Not complaining.”

But Billy lightens his kisses, presses his lips, long and slow, to Steve’s throat. “I want you _so bad_ ,” Billy says. “But I want it to be _perfect_.”

Steve makes a soft sound, words lost for a second, and he twists to face him. Tucks in close, cast wedged awkwardly between their chests, and he tangles their legs together.

“I want that, too.” He says, nearly whispers.

“So, we’ll make it perfect,” Billy says, and it sounds like a promise. “Anything for you.”

Steve smiles.

-*-

“Oh. _My god_.” Tommy says, pressing close at their lunch table, pulling at the collar of Steve's sweater. “Steve Harington, is that a hickey?”

“You're such a fucking _troll_ ,” Steve says, pushing at Tommy's face, grinning as he tries to angle his head and get his mouth over it like the leech he is.

“Aw, I think he’s _jealous_ ,” Carol says. But she leans forward anyway and squints. “Honey, that’s some hickey.”

“Got a little carried away,” Steve shrugs, yelping when Tommy goes for his side, pinching him to get him to drop his hand. “Stop that.”

“What, am I supposed to _share_?” Tommy says, pouting, pressing into Steve’s space.

“Did you wanna give me one of your own?” Steve asks, skeptical.

“You know you’re my one and only,” Tommy says with a grin.

“Yeah, I think my boyfriend might kick your ass if you try.” Steve tells him, patting him on the cheek. “He seems like the type to punch first, ask later.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Carol says. “Are you kidding? Tell me you’re not kidding.”

“I'm not kidding,” Steve replies dutifully.

Tommy frowns. “What am I missing?”

“Oh thank _god_ you’re finally getting laid,” Carol says, leaning over to smack a big wet one on Steve’s cheek. “I bet he’s _really_ good in bed. Is he?”

“Uh,” Steve huffs, palming the back of his neck. “Well, we _actually_ haven't gone _quite_ that far, yet.”

Tommy elbows him. “ _What_ am I missing?”

“He’s kinda _slow_ ,” Steve whispers, loud, at Carol.

He probably deserves the slap Tommy gives him to the shoulder and the ‘ _hey!’_ it earns him.

But he’s saved, because Billy slides into the seat next to Steve and points at Tommy.

“Hey, hands of the merchandise, Hunt.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, holding up his cast. “I'm already damaged goods, Tommy.”

“ _Wait_ ,” Tommy says. “ _Waaiiiit_. No way. Seriously?”

“I think he's finally getting it,” Steve says, leaning toward Carol.

“You and Hargrove?” Tommy asks. “But he’s like, the _opposite_ of your type. No offense, Billy.”

“None taken,” Billy says, leaning in to press a kiss right under Steve’s ear, one of his favorite spots.

Steve shudders, skin prickling, delight thrumming straight to his center. “I don't have a type.”

“Apparently you do,” Billy says. “And I’m not it.”

“I don't have a _type_ ,” Steve insists.

“You absolutely do. And, I mean, I can see you guys hooking up, but like, _boyfriend_?”

“Boyfriend?” Billy says, and Steve twists to look at him.

“What? Would you prefer lover? Partner? Exclusive fuck buddy--?”

Billy just shrugs. “ _Boyfriend_ just seems so banal. _Lover_ , maybe?”

Steve hums. Reaching out, he plucks at Billy's jacket, eyes drifting like he's sizing him up.

“You wanna be my lover, sweetheart?” he asks, sweet as pie.

“I’ve just been waiting for you to ask,” Billy says.

Tommy gags.

Steve finally breaks, laughing a little as he kicks at Tommy's chair. “I thought you'd be over the moon.”

“Oh, don't get me wrong -- I want you to name your babies after me, I really do. But _jesus_ , I haven't seen you all moon eyed since _Wheeler_ , and I forgot how _bad_ it was.”

“I still think he's jealous,” Carol says.

“Should've run away with me when we were six, Tommy.” Steve shrugs. “You lost your chance.”

“Damn,” Tommy says. “At least Carol loves me. And at least you're _finally_ getting yourself laid.”

“Not yet,” Steve says. “We're waiting till the wedding night.”

“Are we?” Billy says. “Well, wanna get married, baby?”

“This is the second time you've proposed to me,” Steve says. “And, I gotta say, this one is better than the last but it still sucks.”

“I’ll work on it,” Billy says. “It’ll be perfect, I promise.”

Just like the promise for their first time, too.

But when Billy says it, so sagely and confidently and low, right in Steve’s ear, smoothing one of his large palms down Steve’s spine like he’s claiming him, it _feels_ like a promise. A real and tangible thing, settling into the marrow of Steve’s bones.

-*-

Friday evening comes quickly.

They’re all set to see _Jurassic Park._ The week has passed in a blur of classes and mid-semester homework, the cool breezes of autumn dragging in the darkness a little earlier each night. Steve finds himself actually sleeping in the those dark nights, just a little bit, but maybe enough.

At least the woods have been generally quiet, the investigation ongoing but the murders stalled for the moment. Or, as some people speculate, done for good. Steve’s not sure he believes them and their optimism, but he can’t help but agree with the sentiment.

He’s just too pessimistic to believe that whomever was killing these people would just _stop_.

Not when they clearly put so much effort into the killings in the first place.

Hopper’s still not sure how they got the bodies to decompose like that, but the partially decomposed one landed him with a theory that the murderer had been interrupted partway through the process. He’s thinking chemicals, something new and freaky designed by the lab, or something -- at least that’s what he told Steve on Thursday.

It’s still a little fresh in his mind when he meets Billy outside the theatre. He’s smoking, leaning up against a poster for _The Crow_.

He looks just as cool as the day Steve first saw him.

“Wanna wait inside?” Steve asks, the bite of the air keeping his cheeks rosy.

Billy makes a face. “No one’s here, yet. Might as well wait outside, yeah?”

Steve stuffs himself a little tighter into his coat, tucks his free hand away, fingers flexing in his cast, and dips his nose nose into his collar, words muffled. “Yeah, but it's _cold_.”

He doesn’t even have a second to blink before Billy’s coat is draping over Steve’s shoulders, collar pressing in warm around his neck with residual heat from Billy’s body.

It leaves Billy in a long sleeve shirt. He _must_ be cold, but he doesn’t look it -- he just looks pleased, eyes on the way his jacket hangs over Steve’s frame.

“Better?”

“Um. Yeah. I mean-- yeah.” Steve says, trying not to feel too ridiculous, weighed down by layers of jackets. “Much better.”

It’s heavy, but it’s not bad. Like someone’s standing behind him, resting their arms on his shoulders, but not pressing him down.

It’s just the weight of _Billy_ , even though he’s standing in front of Steve smoking, looking pleased as punch.

“You look nice,” Billy says, grin wide, teeth white. “You get all pretty just for me?”

Steve rolls his eyes, tugging Billy's coat a little tighter around himself. “No, I got dressed up for the _other_ guy I'm fucking.”

Billy makes a face. “Pretty sure we haven’t _done_ that yet, _so_.”

And maybe he looks a little jealous, like there’s actually someone else. It _shouldn’t_ send a curl of heat down to Steve’s gut, when Billy looks at him all possessive and steps forward to pull his jacket a little tighter around Steve’s shoulders, but -- it does.

Steve smiles a little, shuffling in, pressing his lips to Billy's cheek and savoring the way it makes him jump a little. He's warm, under Steve's mouth; almost excessively so.

“It's a date,” Steve says. “Why wouldn't I dress up a little for you?”

Billy just nods. “I like it.”

And it doesn’t look like Billy _really_ dressed up, but he kind of _always_ looks good, so it’s hard to tell if he put more effort into his appearance tonight or not.

“You better,” Steve says. “I went through, like, five sweaters to find one I could fit this stupid thing through.”

Steve wiggles the fingers in his cast hand for emphasis.

Billy drags his fingers, light and gentle, over Steve’s torso, nearly all the way down to his belt, admiring. Even though they’re right out in the open, right in front of the theater.

“You look perfect,” he says.

Of course, _that’s_ when Tommy and Carol decide to show up, and Nancy and Jonathan quick on their heels.

When they all go to buy tickets, Billy flashes two at Steve, already purchased. “My treat,” he says.

Steve grins, even when Tommy elbows him, and follows after Billy while the rest of them wait in line outside.

“Does that mean I'm buying the popcorn?” Steve asks.

“This is a _date_ ,” Billy says. “I’m _wooing_ you. I’m buying the popcorn.”

“Oh, you're _wooing_ me. My bad.” Steve says. “Here I thought you were just trying _really hard_ to get your dick wet tonight.”

Billy gets a hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezes. The feeling is a little muffled through all the layers, but it’s still nice.

“Can’t I do both?”

“Probably,” Steve says. “You seem like a good multi tasker.”

“Only sort of,” Billy says, and it's the one time Steve thinks he's ever really heard Billy openly admit to a flaw. “Sometimes I can be pretty single minded, if I'm focused on something. Or someone.”

He squeezes Steve's shoulder again and then steps forward to the snack counter, eyes darting over all the choices. Then, he grins, wide and sweet enough to make his _medium_ popcorn into a _large_ , wicked enough to get a free candy bar that he slides into Steve's jacket pocket when they move off to the side after Billy’s paid.

Steve watches it all a little wide eyed. It's a bit like magic, like watching the devil himself work his charms and make a deal.

Steve kinda wants to kiss him and see if he can taste the honey he's selling from his mouth.

“You should sell snake oil,” Steve says.

“You should eat your snickers before it melts,” is all Billy says, teeth still bared in pure delight.

That’s how the rest of their group finds them, waiting outside in the lobby because Billy _insisted_ on not going inside yet, Steve chowing down on the snickers bar, Billy watching him lick the chocolate from around his lips.

Tommy grunts at the sight of them. “This is _awful_. You should, like, _break up_. This is _gross_ \--"

Steve sucks a bit of chocolate from his thumb. “I never complained about you and Carol, dickwad.”

“We were never like _this_ ,” Tommy says, affronted. Probably at the way Billy leans in, thumbs over Steve’s bottom lip, and then sucks the meat of his thumb between his lips.

“Yeah, we totally were,” Carol says, and smacks a wet one on Tommy’s cheek.

Jonathan just looks _amused_. Nancy looks -- well, she looks happy, maybe. Steve hasn’t had a chance to really _talk_ to her about all of this, but she hasn’t done much more than say, ‘ _I thought you hated him, Steve_ ’, after lunch one day, in what seemed like a teasing kind of way.

“It's the honeymoon phase,” Nancy says, a little cheeky. “We all know how Steve is during the honeymoon phase.”

Tommy groans as Carol starts leading them into the theater. “They haven't even started _fucking_. How long can the honeymoon phase _be_?”

Steve laughs a little as he goes to follow-- stopping only when he feels Billy's hand on his wrist.

“Isn’t the movie supposed to start at, like, six fifteen?”

He’s looking at his watch, frowning.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “But we gotta get the good seats.”

Steve doesn’t want to ask Billy if he’s never _been_ to the movies before, or maybe if it’s been a really long time -- but he doesn’t. It seems kind of invasive, if Billy hasn’t volunteered it.

So, Steve leads them into the theatre, Billy’s jacket _still_ around his shoulders, Billy following somewhere at his heels, trailing behind him like he’s literally dragging his feet.

Nancy and Jonathan and Tommy and Carol are all in the back row. Steve knows he _should_ go sit next to them-- this is a group outing-- but he drags Billy down to the middle of the front row with his free hand and pushes the armrest up, telling Billy to put the popcorn between them.

“The trailers will start soon,” Steve tells him, feeling a bit dumb as Billy settles into his seat, looking stiff. “They're the best part, honestly.”

Billy shifts in in his seat, eyeing the aisle, then looking back to where their friends are.

“It’s so _early_ ,” Billy says.

Steve watches him touch the cigarettes in his pocket, like he’s thinking about ducking outside for a smoke, but he doesn’t say anything and doesn’t get up, so Steve guesses he thought better of it.

Steve reaches over, smoothing a hand over Billy's thigh, squeezing at his knee. “Hey. Thanks for coming out.”

Billy settles a little bit under Steve’s hand, like maybe he’s distracted, or maybe he just doesn’t know how to behave on a _date_.

Around them, the theatre is getting pretty packed. People in the wings, people in the spaces next to them. It smells like popcorn, like candy, like soda. Steve’s ears are filled with the pleasant chatter of dozens and dozens of different voices, all excited to see _dinosaurs_ up close and personal.

Better than the monsters the kids had been speculating about, anyway.

“Yeah. Thanks for giving me a chance,” Billy says, letting his hand fall over Steve’s.

“Anytime,” Steve says, and then the room goes dark.

And then the noise starts, previews kicking on with flashes of light and sound.

One preview in and Steve can see, can _feel_ , Billy’s leg bouncing next to him.

Three previews in, and Billy starts drumming his fingers over Steve’s hand.

Steve threads their fingers together, squeezing, trying to give him something to anchor to-- even though he's not really sure _why_ he seems so restless. He still _tries_.

“You okay?” he asks, leaning close, right as the last trailer ends.

“I’m fine,” Billy says. “ _Finally_ ,” he breathes out, as the lights dim even more and the movie _starts_.

Not that he really stops fidgeting, but at least the previews are over, which Billy seemed not to really enjoy. And hey, maybe the guy’s _claustrophobic_ or something. Steve dated a girl like that for a little bit, back in high school.

Steve tries to relax. Tries to let himself sink into the movie.

Tries to ignore how wound _tight_ Billy is.

He makes it to Jeff Goldblum dripping water along some girl's hand.

Steve sighs. “You sure you're okay?”

“Yeah,” Billy says, but he doesn’t really _sound_ fine, even though he squeezes Steve’s hand. He sounds like he doesn’t want to be here at all, but he’s not getting up, not leaving, so clearly there’s part of him that _does_ want to stay, because Steve’s never known Billy Hargrove to do something he doesn’t want to do.

“Do you wanna, like, step out?” Steve asks, and feels like he's gonna miss half the movie, body so tight, like he's _attuned_ to Billy; he doesn't know when that happened.

“No,” Billy says, stubborn as an ox. “I’m good.”

And Steve thinks maybe he _is_ , because he quiets down a little bit after that, though he holds Steve’s hand a little tighter while Steve finally gives in and eats the popcorn. Someone’s gotta, anyway, because Billy ate one piece and has since left the thing untouched between them.

Steve lets his focus fall back to the movie. Gapes a little and nudges at Billy when they see the dinosaurs up close. Marvels, a little, at how _real_ they look.

Billy squeezes his hand again.

The movie continues.

On screen, things start to go to shit.

Steve goes tense and the unease in the theatre around them is nearly palpable, everyone tightly coiled and concerned and _afraid_. Steve finds himself squeezing at Billy’s hand just because it’s there, because it’s a connection, because he’s real and alive and a tether to reality.

It’s only a little while longer before Steve can feel Billy’s leg start to shake again. The movie gets _loud_ and Billy drops his hand. Steve’s eyes are glued to the screen, arms crossing over his chest now that he’s got nothing else to hold onto. He curls into himself, into the moment.

He barely notices when Billy’s lips dip close to his ear and he says “ _I’ll be right back_.”

And then he’s gone, slipping into the aisle and sliding away from Steve.

It’s five minutes before Steve really thinks about it, five minutes before he wonders if he should have gone _with_ Billy. But he probably just went to the bathroom, and there’s no real point in following him in there.

Another five minutes tick slowly by and Steve can’t pay attention to the movie anymore. Billy’s _clearly_ not coming back and he _clearly_ didn’t head to the bathroom, so Steve finds himself pushing up from his seat, abandoning the popcorn, and slinking down the aisle quickly before he can disrupt anyone around him.

Billy’s not outside in the lobby. He’s not outside in the cold air of the parking lot, either.

Steve sighs and lights up a cigarette and tries to _think_.

He paces the front of the building for a moment and looks out into the parking lot, trying to spot that blue Camaro he saw Billy leaning up against the other day, but no dice. So, he paces a little more, wandering down to the side of the giant building, and then, around to the back, just to stretch his legs.

He spots Billy sitting on an overturned milk crate, smoking a joint.

“Jesus,” Steve breathes, and he jerks into motion, half jogging over to him, dropping down to his knees. “Are you _okay_?”

Billy looks almost surprised to see him. Like he hadn’t even noticed Steve until he was on his knees in front of him. But he recovers quick, wide eyes going a little opaque.

“Yeah, I’m -- you should be watching the movie. You’re gonna miss it,” he says.

Steve shrugs. “So I miss it. I'm more worried about _you_. You wanna get out of here or something? I didn't know you were claustrophobic or whatever-- I wouldn't have asked you to the movies if I knew you didn't like it.”

Billy just shrugs and says, “I’m fine.”

Which -- well, he actually _seems_ fine, if a little distant. Now that he’s out here, behind the theatre, smoking on a goddamn _milk crate_ with no jacket on, because it’s _still_ around Steve’s shoulders, he looks completely at ease.

“I’m not claustrophobic. It’s just so --” Billy clenches his teeth, makes a face, and then says, “There’s just a lot of people. Couldn’t’ve told you.”

“Okay,” Steve nods, and lays a tentative hand on his knee. “Well. Where would you like to go instead?”

It’s not that Steve thought Billy would flinch away from him, but it’s affirming and reassuring when he doesn’t.

“I don’t suppose you’d want to go on a walk in the woods,” Billy says, half smiling, taking another drag on his cigarette.

Steve's throat works when he swallows, and he hesitates before nodding. “If that'll make you feel better.”

“I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“You're not,” Steve says, pushing to his feet. “C'mon.”

Billy takes one last pull from his cigarette, then drops it and crushes it under his boot. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.”

-*-

They take Steve’s car down to the usual place, the one Billy seems to like so much. Billy’s quiet in the passenger seat, eyes stuck out the window, even though he’s twisted a little so his hand is resting on Steve’s knee. His palm is warm and Steve tries to ignore the thudding in his chest that picks up the closer and closer they get to the woods. It’s _hammering_ in his against his ribs by the time he throws his car into park, eyes on the dark trees around them.

For a moment, he sits there, with the engine rumbling. Knows he could turn them around, right now, and take them away from this place.

But Billy wants it. Wants to be out here. And Steve wants Billy to feel at ease. Wants him to be happy.

He kills the engine and blows out a long breath, eyes on the treeline. On the shadows between branches.

“I've, um… there's a bat. In the trunk. And my swinging arm is kinda _broken_ , so.” Steve twists to look at Billy, finding his eyes already on him, so _bright_ and so _blue_ even in the dark; something prickles at Steve's nape. “So you're gonna have to carry it.”

“I don’t think you need a _bat_ ,” Billy says. But then Steve’s face _must_ do something, because he just nods and says, “okay.”

Out of the car, Billy looks weirdly at ease holding the bat over his shoulder like some kind of pro. Steve wonders if he played baseball in high school -- maybe he did, with those strong arms, that muscular frame of his. Or maybe he played football. Or maybe basketball, just like Steve. It’s weird to think that there’s so _much_ about Billy that Steve doesn’t know.

“You wanna lead the way?” Steve asks.

“You don’t want me behind you?” Billy asks. “Or next to you?”

And he _could_ be being an asshole, like he _is_ , like he’s always been -- but there’s a tone there that suggests that he’s actually trying, actually attempting to make sure Steve feels the safest.

Which is kind of silly, because Steve would feel the safest exactly nowhere _near_ these woods, but. He’s here now, so.

“Next to me is fine, too.” Steve says, sliding his arm into the crook of Billy's.

Like that, Billy leads them into the woods. Steve on one arm, bat in the other, still propped up on his shoulder. Steve’s got the flashlight from his trunk in his bad arm, light wobbly in front of them on their path into the trees.

Next to him, Billy already feels more relaxed.

Steve doesn't feel very relaxed, though. Not here. Not where there's noise coming from every angle and direction. Not where there's shadows that move, that breathe.

He presses closer to Billy, to his warmth, breath shuddering out of him. Curls his fingers in at his bicep and keeps his eyes locked on the light.

“I was trying to find it,” Steve says, suddenly, needing more than just the sound of the forest in his ears. “The field. When I came out here by myself. I couldn't find it.”

“Did you find it eventually?” Billy asks, keeping up the conversation like he knows Steve needs it.

Steve grunts. “Yeah. Eventually. Little too late.”

“Sorry,” Billy says. “It’s kinda hard to find when you don’t know the way.”

But Steve _does_ know the way. Or he thought he did, anyway.

He knows it well enough to know that’s where they’re walking right now. To Billy’s little clearing, with the moss and the spring and the moonlight. Steve can’t even be mad -- it’s better than Billy leading him somewhere else, like the abandoned lab buildings he’s talked about, or anywhere unknown.

Billy knocks into Steve’s shoulder, pressing close. “You’re so tense. Don’t be scared. There’s nothing out here but us.”

Which is, like, _blatantly_ untrue, because Steve can _hear_ a screech owl in the distance, can hear the crickets, can hear the wind through the trees.

“You're a really bad liar,” Steve tells him, because he remembers a vague, towering figure _watching_ him, and he knows they're not alone _at all_. “There's a million things out here.”

“Okay, fine. We’re pretty far from alone, but there’s nothing _scary_ out here.”

Except for the figure. Except for whomever keeps murdering those people.

Unless they’re one in the same.

“You don't know that,” Steve tells him, a little adamant, a little short. “You didn't see it.”

Steve can’t _see_ it, but he knows Billy’s making a face. But he doesn’t _argue_ at least.

“Alright,” Billy says, “I didn’t see it.” And it’s like he _wants_ to say more, but stops himself.

Steve huffs out a breath and he sees it fog in front of him. “Why do you like it out here so much anyway?”

He feels Billy shrug more than he sees it, Billy’s warmth shifting against him as they walk, leaves crunching underneath their feet as they move deeper and deeper into the woods. With Billy, it’s better, but Steve still can’t ditch the clawing fear in his bones, the unease that sits the hairs on the back of his neck up.

“I grew up in a pretty rural area. No big cities, not that many people. I’m used to being alone,” he says. “I’m used to my own company. It’s quiet out here. Peaceful.”

Which, like, _clearly_ Billy hasn’t been paying enough attention to the news.

“Would you prefer to be out here by yourself?” Steve asks.

“I would _always_ prefer to be with you,” he answers, like it’s easy, like it’s _nothing_.

Steve blinks at how painfully _earnest_ it is.

“Even if I had wanted to stay at the theater?”

“I would have gone back inside,” Billy says. “If you had asked me to.”

“You weren't comfortable,” Steve says, even though that's obvious, feeling a little lightheaded by the implication. “I wouldn't have asked.”

“Sometimes you do things that make you uncomfortable for people you care about,” Billy says, stepping over a log, then helping Steve over it with a hand. “You’re in the woods with me right now, aren’t you?”

Steve nods, throat working, Billy's hand warm in his as he carefully steps over, feeling hot all over and all of a sudden. “Yeah. I mean, I guess so.”

“Or should I not have asked you to come into the woods with me?”

“No,” Steve says, then falters. “I mean, I dunno. I offered to go somewhere you felt comfortable. It's a little different.”

Billy squeezes his hand and pulls him closer, slowing down and then stopping in front of Steve. “Hey,” he says, pulling his hand free so he can put his finger under Steve’s chin, his other hand still wrapped around the grip of the bat. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don't,” Steve says, feeling a little struck, a little like the world has gone quiet around them. “You don't make me uncomfortable.”

Billy just hums, leans forward, and presses a soft kiss to Steve’s lips.

Steve leans into it, sighing a little, their noses bumping. Kissing Billy here, in the woods, feels a little electric. A little _alive._

Steve doesn't know why that is. Why his mouth is tingling. But it is.

Billy smiles into it and pulls Steve a little closer with his free hand, getting a fist in the fabric of Steve’s shirt. It’s such a far cry from the first time they were in the woods together, but maybe Billy’s trying to distract Steve all the same. Not that Steve really _cares_ , because Billy’s mouth feels good and he makes Steve feel like there’s a current running through him, like he’s lit up by all the stars in the sky.

Eventually, though, Billy pulls back.

“Come on. Let’s at _least_ go somewhere comfortable.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, feeling a little dazed, a little punch drunk, and he stumbles a little into Billy, hand fisting into his shirt. “Yeah, in just minute.”

Leaning forward, he catches his mouth, a little clumsy.

Billy laughs into Steve’s mouth and Steve devours the noise, like he’s _hungry_ , like he can’t get enough.

Billy lets him, patient. He kisses Steve back, letting Steve set the pace, keeping sturdy, giving Steve something to lean against, to press against, steady as an oak.

Steve presses closer. Shuffles in until they're flush-- or as flush as they can be with his cast in the way.

His hand moves up and curls over Billy's nape, sinking into his curls. He angles his head, slants their mouths together better, sweeter, and moans.

“Baby,” Billy breathes against Steve's mouth, letting him in for a moment before pulling back. “Come on.”

And then he's _picking Steve up,_ like Steve's a blushing bride, and carrying him forward, onward, deeper into the woods.

Steve lets out a startled sound, clutching at him. His face feels hot; his neck and chest and ears do too. He's pretty sure his _knees are weak_.

Like he's _swooning._

“Put me down,” he says, but it's totally breathless, like he's winded, like kissing Billy was like running a mile.

He can hear his heart pounding in his ears.

They’re at the clearing before he can even clear his head, before he can get his thoughts straight. Billy ducks between some low-hanging branches and pushes his way into the quiet space, the sounds of the forest muffled around them by loamy moss, by the babble of the little stream, by the empty clearing. The moon is already high in the sky, providing enough light, strangely, enough light for Steve to actually _see_ in. Or maybe his eyes have just adjusted to the darkness.

Billy sets him down carefully, not quite letting him go because Steve’s still wobbly, still lightheaded.

“See? Found it. You just have to know the way.” Billy holds up the bat, a little skeptical. “Can I put this down, or…?”

Steve glances around, hand still curved over Billy's shoulder, and he gives a little nod. “Yeah, just-- keep it close?”

Billy nods, even though Steve _knows_ he thinks it's stupid. But Billy didn’t _see_ the thing in the treeline, didn’t feel the way it looked at Steve. Steve shivers, thinking about it now. It’s hard not to, with the way the trees circle them right now -- and Steve suddenly can’t look, can’t look at the treeline all around them, can’t look at the trunks, can’t bear to think that there could be something tall and monstrous standing there, just _watching_ them, with antlers that crawl and weave toward the canopy, toward stars like serpents.

“ _Hey_ ,” Billy says, voice in Steve’s ear. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but he must have, at some point. “You’re alright.”

Steve can feel Billy’s warmth as he presses in, flush against Steve’s chest. He can’t see, but he can hear the sound of the bat thudding onto the moss next to them. He wants to tell Billy to pick it back up, because he can feel eyes on him _right now_ \-- but there are warm lips against his neck, just below his ear, and steady hands on his hips.

Steve sighs, exhales soft and tilts his head over. Keeps his eyes shut because this is almost _better_. Like he can pretend he and Billy are someplace warmer, someplace _safer_ \-- and he _does_ feel warm.

Like their little clearing is in its own world. Like its apart from the cold of autumn settling heavy on the town.

“Are you trying to distract me again?” Steve asks, pulse _thumping_ under Billy's lips, head kind of _swimming_.

“Do you like it better than punching me in the face?” Billy asks, and his voice is so quiet, so low. His teeth drag along Steve’s pulse and his breath is warm against Steve’s skin.

Steve swallows; thick. He gives a little nod, eyes fluttering open, breath catching.

“Couldn't punch you if I wanted,” Steve mumbles. “My punching arm is down.”

“I am _sure_ you could manage with your left,” Billy says. “I believe in you.”

Steve can feel the grin against his skin, can feel how Billy’s smiling as he’s kissing at Steve’s neck.

“I don't _wanna_ punch you,” Steve says, gasping when that earns him another hint of teeth, hand easing up over Billy's shoulder to sink into his hair, like he's holding him there, vision half hazy with a low, pulsing desire.

“Good,” Billy says. “Because I don’t _really_ want you to punch me, either.”

Even though Steve gets the sneaking suspicion that Billy would be happy with anything Steve gives him. After all, he wasn’t too disappointed the last couple times Steve got aggressive.

Still, Steve's fingers curl a bit inward, into his hair. “What _do_ you want, Billy?”

“You,” Billy says, pressing even closer. Lips warm on Steve’s throat. With his eyes closed, it’s like the only thing that exists is Billy, just one central point in the entire cosmos. “Just you.”

Steve shudders. It sounds so _honest_. So brutally earnest. Like Billy would be happy if Steve just gave himself over.

“You could have anybody,” Steve tells him, swaying a little when Billy just presses _closer_ , like they're _dancing_.

“I don’t want anybody,” Billy says, so sincere, so truthful sounding. “I just want you.”

Steve turns his face and presses a kiss to Billy's hair, nose burying in his curls. “You have me right now.”

Billy hums and wraps his arms around Steve, pulling him close. He doesn’t _say_ anything, but Steve still gets the impression that it’s not _enough_. That now, as much as Billy wants him, isn’t what he’s after.

But then Billy’s pulling away and tugging Steve down on top of him, Billy sitting on that soft moss, Steve piling into his lap.

Steve blinks down at him, tense for as long as it takes for Billy to kiss at his jaw. For long enough for him to sneak a hand under all of his layers to get at the soft skin of his back.

Then he melts against him, breathing out with a pleased little sound.

Billy eats that up, stealing the sound away from Steve’s lips, even as the fingers over Steve’s ribs coax out more. Steve kisses him long and slow, shifts against him, a little restless.

He feels awkward-- wanting to drape his arms around Billy’s shoulders and drag him closer, but caught up in coats and his sling. He wiggles, practically squirms, knees on either side of Billy’s thighs, weight pinning him down-- though, honestly, Steve doubts he can _actually_ pin Billy anywhere.

“I hate this stupid thing,” Steve mutters between kisses, tugging at his sling, fingers waggling.

Billy doesn’t seem to mind at all, though. About none of it. About being pressed down, about Steve wriggling on top of him, about the cast getting in the way. Maybe he really _does_ just want Steve in any way he can have him. Hell, he was pleased as punch when Steve decked him in the face, so. He really seems like he’ll take anything.

Which is a lot, honestly.

But Steve doesn’t get too much of a chance to think about it, because Billy’s hands are sneaking over his stomach, hiking his shirt up as they go, slipping up and up until his fingers are drifting over Steve’s nipples. Playing with him.

Steve gasps-- because what else _can_ he do. With Billy's mouth on his, with his fingers teasing so well. He's helpless to it.

His abdomen flexes in the cool air as his lower back curves. His hips cant _down_ , aligning perfectly with Billy's, and dragging another ragged breath right out of him.

His broken arm jerks, bound and useless, as he clutches at Billy with his free hand, mouth falling open as he pants, short and sharp. “ _Billy_.”

“Yeah, baby?” Billy asks, hips rolling up, clearly _just_ to make Steve groan. “This okay?”

Steve nods, a bit hapless, just as helpless-- the heat in his belly pulling taut, as if it was tugging him relentlessly into Billy's gravity. He rocks down in reply as Billy thumbs over the sensitive skin around his nipples.

His words escape him. There's just _heat_. Like it's thrumming right through him, right to the core of him, beginning wherever Billy is touching him and burning right through him.

Billy catches him in a kiss and Steve feels _drunk_ with it, dizzy as he feels Billy’s tongue slide so slick against his own. Deft fingers pinch his nipples at the same time, causing Steve’s back to arch, knees pressing down, down into the moss on either side of Billy’s hips.

Billy’s fingers play him like a cherished instrument, coaxing sounds out of Steve he can’t seem to hold in. He’s panting by the time Billy breaks away and tugs at his lower lip with his teeth, grinning wide in Steve’s field of vision.

Steve feels _woozy_. His head kind of heavy, his heart pounding in his chest, his lips tingling.

He clutches at Billy's shoulder with his good hand and ruts in his lap with an abandon he doesn't usually feel unless he's had a drink or two. Rocks and rides down against him as Billy rubs circles over his right nipple with his thumb while pinching at the other with a sharp glee. The contrast has Steve _moaning_ , loud and shameless, into the space between them, that unending heat coiling tight in his belly.

Steve barely even _notices_ when Billy gets a hand behind him and slowly lowers him backwards, pressing him down against the soft moss. It’s not cold, not wet -- just comfortable. He lets himself sinks into it like soft sheets and while Billy presses him down, smothering him in kisses as he crowds over Steve like the blanket of night.

It should be chilly, as Billy’s hands push up his shirt to get at skin, as those fingers work at the button of his jeans -- but all Steve feels is _hot_.

It's an all-over, all-consuming heat. Like it's eating him up. Like he's gonna burst right into flames, from the inside out. He shudders as Billy's hands drag up his sides, fingers climbing the ladder of his ribs.

His hips jut up, fly open, _achingly_ hard as he strains under him, sighing Billy's name into the night.

Billy’s hands work his pants open, edging them down his hips. Still, Steve can’t feel even a bite of cold -- just the heat from Billy’s hands.

“Can I?” Billy asks.

Steve barely even knows what Billy’s talking about, until he blinks his eyes, looks down his body, and sees Billy there, hovering over Steve’s cock, eyes dark, looking _hungry_.

Steve _whines_ , hips rolling, so _needy_. He nods, quick and breathless, thighs splaying open.

Suddenly there’s heat around him as Billy sucks him down.

Warm, wet perfection.

Billy groans like it’s him being sucked off, like Steve tastes _that_ good, like the weight of him on Billy’s tongue is exactly what he’s been craving. Like Steve is giving him something special.

And maybe he is, spread out on the moss like this, under the moonlight and the stars. Steve’s certainly never had a moment like this before -- it’s something new, something exhilarating. Something he’s sharing just with Billy. But it’s _Billy_ giving him this moment, giving him this pleasure as Billy bottoms out, nose pressing against the curls of hair at Steve’s groin. It’s Steve taking and Billy giving, and Billy’s still sounding pleased and hungry, like _he’s_ the one who got the better end of the deal.

Steve's head lulls back as he gasps out Billy's name to the stars. He can't look because it'll leave him in total _ruin_.

His stomach contracts, muscles winding taut under flesh. He can't even bring himself to buck forward, already buried so _perfectly_ deep in Billy's mouth. Already clawing at the earth like that will bring him back down from this _bliss_.

Billy hums again and takes him _deeper_ , until Steve can feel his dick hit the back of Billy’s throat. Until the pressure gets tighter, until Billy starts working him over like it’s _nothing_. Like it’s not even hard.

Billy’s fingers find Steve’s hips, gripping tight, encouraging him up, to buck into the heat of Billy’s mouth -- to _take_.

Steve moans, thrashing, helpless to the sway of Billy's heat. He sinks his fingers into Billy's hair, his other hand jerking in his sling again, a grunt of frustration escaping him as he tugs at Billy's curls.

He feels bare. Vulnerable. And he's practically still _dressed_.

Billy hums and smooths his fingers over Steve’s hips, like he’s _soothing_ him. Steve would be mad -- if it didn’t _work_.

He can’t be too annoyed, with Billy working him over like this. With him taking Steve deep and swallowing around him, working him back out, and then taking him down once more. Over and over, until Steve is moaning, loud in the clearing, not even _caring_ what he sounds like, just losing himself in the feelings.

It doesn't take much more than that. Steve feels like a _livewire_.

He falls over the edge like a _dream_.

Spills out into Billy's mouth, bucking up and shaking apart.

Billy drinks him down, lapping and sucking at Steve until he's tender, until he’s gasping up toward the heavens, shivering under Billy's touch. Only then does Billy let up, pull off, and press a warm, wet kiss to the jut of Steve's hip.

Steve feels _spent_. Totally used up. Touch languid and lazy when he drags his fingers through Billy's hair.

“C’mere,” Steve mumbles, practically slurring.

Billy moves up his body, blanketing Steve with his warmth, and then kisses Steve with salty lips.

Dazed, Steve kisses him slow. Mouth open and still breathless.

Reaching between them, Steve fumbles for Billy's fly. Pants into Billy's mouth and pulls at his belt, vision swimming.

Billy’s cock is hard when Steve gets his fingers around it. It’s gratifying, the way Billy sighs into Steve’s mouth, melting into it.

“Baby,” Billy pants against Steve’s lips.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, squeezing at him, stroking as Billy lurches forward into his touch. “C'mon, sweetheart. Take what you need.”

Billy groans, hips bucking forward as Steve works him over faster.

“Just you,” Billy pants, stealing a messy kiss. “Just want you. Just need you.”

He already sounds keyed up, tightly coiled, like he was just waiting to break.

“ _Have me_ ,” Steve tells him, biting into his mouth, wrist twisting.

Billy has the _audacity_ to look surprised.

“Not yet,” he says, breaking away to press his lips against Steve's jaw. “Want it to be perfect,” Billy says.

Steve feels _dumbfounded_. Figured Billy would _jump_ on the chance to finally take what he's been drooling for, what he's been chasing Steve for.

His throat works and he pumps over Billy with a renewed fervor. “Come for me then. I wanna watch.”

“Yeah?” Billy says. He dips a hand below himself and wraps it around Steve's fingers, stroking himself with Steve's hand. “Where should I come, pretty boy?”

Steve _burns_ at that. Trembles and sets alight. Gasps as Billy fucks his hand, using it under his own, slick with sweat and precome.

He chokes on his own words, face and chest on fire. “On me.”

Billy groans and the sound is loud, like it's echoing in the clearing, bouncing off the trees and circling back to them. Steve wonders if he sounded like that only moments ago, aroused and taken with pleasure.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Billy breathes out, shifting a little so he's straddling Steve while jerking himself off, free hand moving fast and clumsy to push up Steve's shirt to expose the pale expanse of his skin to the night air.

Steve arches for him. Gives him the canvas he wants, letting his broken arm fall to the side, chest heaving as Billy stares down at him with a gaze that could bring him to his knees. That could reduce him to ashes.

Billy comes with a huff of air and a groan, painting Steve's stomach in warmth, in heat, dick twitching underneath Steve's fingers.

It's gratifying to watch Billy crumple, his face gone slack in pleasure. It feels rare, like a gift, that Steve gets to witness this. That he gets to peak behind the curtain and see Billy so vulnerable.

“ _Steve_ ,” Billy pants, eyes opening, dipping down to catch Steve's lips in his, _adoring_.

Steve tilts his head, kisses back just as sweet-- just as rich with affection. Gets Billy as close as he can and sucks at his tongue.

Billy lets him, for a little while, just melting into the kiss, enjoying. And then he pulls back a bit, straddling Steve's hips gaze pointed down, just _looking_. It takes Steve a second to realize that he's _admiring_ his handiwork. Gaze still hot, still heavy, still dark with desire, even with eyes so blue.

Steve doesn't even get a chance to protest before Billy's dragging a hand through his come, spreading it out on Steve's stomach, palm flat against his abdomen. And, like, it's gonna take _forever_ to wash it out of his happy trail -- but the _look_ on Billy's face isn't anything he finds he can argue with.

He especially can't argue when Billy shifts and drops his head to Steve's stomach and _licks._

A shiver ripples up, almost violent, through him. “ _Billy_.”

The sound of his name only seems to urge Billy on, because he grunts and licks Steve harder, fingers digging into Steve's hips, pressing him into the ground.

Teeth follow his lips, biting, sucking, leaving his mark like he's _hungry_.

Steve keens, squirming beneath him, jaw going tight. His breath comes short and sharp through his nose and he _strains_ up under him.

Billy doesn't stop, just keeps going a little harder, a little rougher. Biting at Steve's hips until he’s gasping, teeth sharp and ravenous.

And then he's _moving_ Steve, wrestling him over onto his front, and the moss is so soft underneath him he almost wants to buck into it like a mattress, like sheets. But then Billy's pulling him up, Steve's back against his chest, Steve's knees digging into the forest floor, as Billy's hand gets ahold of him again.

Billy's arm around his waist is the only thing holding him up -- which is good, because with the way Billy's teeth find Steve's neck and bite down, he knows he wouldn't be able to hold himself up.

Steve hisses, eyes fluttering and then rolling back, body pressing back flush into him. His heart trips over in his chest and he chokes down a groan as Billy pulls him tighter.

There's sweat on his skin. He feels feverish. Too hot. He whines and jerks at his sling.

“Off,” he breathes, feels Billy tense for a second, and then whines. “Get this _off_ of me.”

Billy obeys, getting the sling off with no more movement than necessary. And then his hand is back on Steve's dick, stroking him off with renewed vigor.

“You're perfect,” Billy says in his ear. “And all mine.”

Steve goes down onto his elbows, panting against the earth, eyes falling shut. He bucks into Billy's hand, moan catching and stuttering in his chest. When Billy _rocks_ , moving him into a steady rhythm with his hips, Steve loses his _mind_ for a minute.

Feels pleasure and pressure and heat. Feels Billy's weight at his back, draping over him and around him, and feels _owned_. Can't stop moving with him, can't slow down, can't stop _moaning_.

It's like Billy's fucking him, pressing in, _taking_ him -- but he's not. Not yet.

He's _waiting_ , because Billy's stubborn like that. Annoyingly so.

Because there's nothing Steve wants more, right now, than to feel the heat of Billy _inside_ him, too.

“You gonna come again for me, baby?” Billy asks, voice right in Steve's ear.

Steve nods, quick and helpless, throat working around another sound. His fingers curl into the moss, and Billy ruts against him harder, _dirtier_ , until Steve is whining with each breath.

Billy bites down on his pulse at the same time as he twists his hand, thumb brushing over the head of Steve's cock, smearing the precome beading there.

“Come for me,” Billy says, against Steve's skin, breath hot like a summer day. “C’mon, come for me.”

Steve grunts. His spine curves, pressing himself back into Billy, cock pulsing in his hand. He fucks into it and back against Billy, like he'd like to be, pressing back onto him.

And then he's spilling out, onto the grass, into Billy's hand, crying out and stuttering into his touch.

Billy presses him down and down and _down_ , until Steve is blanketed in Billy's warmth, until he's _sure_ he must be nearly underground at this point, he can't sink any lower.

While he comes down, Billy presses hot kisses to Steve's neck. Sweet and soft, strange with how gentle they are, yet how scalding.

Steve lets out a pitiful little sound, a lot like a whimper, as he trembles under him. The weight and the heat is a comfort, though. He feels like if Billy weren't there holding him down, he'd drift right off the ground.

He feels like he should be cold, too. But he's not -- the cool air is a relief against the heat Billy's putting off. But even if Billy were to pull away, Steve doesn't think he’d be cold, even with bare skin exposed to autumn air.

“You're perfect,” Billy says, mouthing over Steve's pulse. Like a prayer.

Steve shudders again, huffing out a short breath, head still kind of _foggy_. “I'm too _hot_.”

“You _are_ ,” Billy says, and Steve can hear the smile.

But Billy lets him up after a moment, anyway, rolling off onto his back, onto the carpet of moss.

There are some flowers nearby. Steve can see them in the faint moonlight. Some mushrooms, too.

Eventually, Steve turns over too. Or, at least, manages to turn his head and stare at Billy.

He looks _ethereal_. Practically glowing in the moonlight.

“Did we really just do that?” Steve asks, after he's caught his breath, after his head has cleared a little.

“We did.”

Billy’s teeth are so bright. His eyes, too.

“I told you it was good. What did you think of it?”

Steve nods. “Really good. Next time you'll have to _actually_ fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Billy says, reaching over to curl his fingers over Steve's arm. Just lightly touching, keeping contact there. “Want it to be perfect.”

Steve nods again. “Not until my arm's not broken, then.”

“Mid-winter, then?” Billy says, lip curling a little. “That's a ways away.”

“I'm a fast healer.” Steve tells him.

“I want --” Billy says, brushing his fingertips over Steve's arm. “I want a lot. I want you to be _mine_.”

Steve's gaze hunts over Billy's face. “You really do, don't you?”

Steve watches him swallow, watches Billy's eyes go dark. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. Like it's a secret. Something special. “I do.”

Steve wiggles a little closer. “Then I'll be yours.”

Billy looks pleased for a moment, then skeptical. Cautious. “For forever?”

Steve's brows pinch, but he catches Billy's hand with his. “If you want me for forever.”

“Yes,” Billy says, like it's _easy_. Like it's _simple._ “Obviously. But you -- do _you_ want that?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, then shrugs. “But forever is a long time.”

“It is,” Billy says, sagely. Moving forward to press a kiss to Steve's neck. “I'm well aware. But I still want you for forever. I'm not really -- one to change my mind.”

“I don't-- I've never met anyone like you,” Steve says. “I've never been anyone's one and only before. Never had anybody want to be mine for forever.”

“They're all stupid, then,” Billy says. “No one saw what was right in front of their eyes.”

Another kiss, slow and perfect, to Steve's neck. Then his jaw. Then his lips.

Steve comes away breathless, lips tingling. He stares at Billy for a long second-- and then he says:

“Okay. Forever.”

And he leans in and seals it with a kiss.

-*-

It’s the middle of the week that finds the campus swarmed with picketers. Steve doesn’t pay them much mind, at first, when he sees them in the morning. Passes by the small gathering and their signs and their table stacked with flyers without a glance.

It’s not until lunch, when Nancy slaps a newspaper down in front of him, her eyebrows up. “ _No Permits: Construction Against the Law._ There’s a petition to get Hopper to go slap some cuffs on Brenner.”

Steve drags it close, swallowing a fry. “Do they have proof or is this another Russian spy thing?”

Nancy shrugs as she plops down. “I dunno. But the article makes a big deal of it-- draws some shaky connections to the murders too. Like, maybe someone knew and was making a statement.”

“Oh, so a Robin Hood murderer sticking up for the trees?” Steve scoffs a little.

“I dunno,” Nancy says. “But maybe it’s something.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods slow. “Maybe it’s something.”

He just doesn’t think it’s _true_. Maybe if it was just the workers. Maybe if it was only them and-- no one else.

Steve tries not to think about that, though. After Saturday night, he wants the woods to remain someplace safe-- someplace _warm_. He doesn’t want to think about the monsters or the death that lurks between the trees.

“What’s this?” Billy asks, when he shows up at their lunch table, eyes on all the strangers on campus.

He slides in next to Steve and gets an arm around him, fingers resting light on Steve’s waist.

“Protest,” Steve says, knocking his knee against Billy’s. “At least it’s not a bible thumper. We get those, too.”

“About what, the lab?” Billy asks, with a laugh. “You think that’s actually going to _stop_ them?”

Nancy purses her lips. “You’d be surprised how powerful a group of motivated individuals can be.”

“I would think they’d just throw money at whatever problem came up. A _protest_ isn’t going to do much.”

Steve hums. “I kinda agree with that. I’ve seen my dad throw money at problems for _years_.”

“Right?” He shrugs. “Clearly they haven’t learned their lesson with all the _people_ dying. You’d think that would be more of a deterrent.”

Nancy huffs. “Well, I think you’re both wrong. I think this’ll work if enough people get on board.”

“Here’s to enough people getting on board,” Steve lifts his paper coffee cup, laughing when Nancy rolls her eyes at his tone. “What? I mean-- Billy’s not _wrong_ , Nance. If they were listening to sense, _death_ would’ve been a good hint.”

“Maybe there’s just not enough blood on their conscience, yet,” Billy says.

Steve grunts. “Yeah, no. There's _more_ than enough.”

“ _Apparently_ not,” Billy says.

Like it’s _nothing_.

Nancy pushes to her feet. “Well, I'm gonna go sign the petition.”

And then she's gone. Leaving Billy and Steve at their table under the old oak alone.

So, Steve twists to face him, smile small. “Hey, good looking. Let's change the subject. How's your day?”

“Good,” Billy says, leaning in, like he’s going to kiss Steve -- but maybe waiting for Steve to close the gap. “How’s yours?”

“Good,” Steve says, leaning in, nose bumping at Billy's. “Could be better.”

“Yeah? What can I do to make it better for you?”

Steve grins, eyes creasing at the corners. “I'm pretty sure you know.”

Billy leans in with a grin, just a little bit closer, and presses his lips to Steve’s. He’s warm and he tastes like apples. His fingers tighten over Steve’s waist.

Steve hums, tilting his head, pressing closer. Curls his fingers into Billy's shirt and lets one kiss lead into another lead into another.

“Way better,” he mumbles.

“Anything else I can do?” Billy asks, like he’d give Steve the fucking _moon_.

“I guess that depends,” Steve says, and it's _ridiculous_ just how _warm_ kissing Billy feels. “What are you doing later? I wanna make you dinner.”

“I think I could probably fit that into my packed schedule,” Billy says, pulling back a little. He’s still warm, even when he’s not pressed flush against Steve. Still radiating pure heat.

“Oh, you think?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, _probably_ ,” Billy says, grinning. Steve can’t help but feel that flutter in his stomach, the one he gets when Billy’s full attention is on him, the one he gets because Billy’s charming and funny and _cute_. “What time do you want me?” Billy asks.

Steve kind of figures if Billy’s gonna play, Steve can play too.

“Oh, I want you all the time,” Steve says, blatantly and purposefully oblivious, tone serious and sincere but smile wicked as he slides his hand over Billy’s thigh. “Tonight, tomorrow night, the night after that-- right here, right _now_ \--”

Billy goes a little loose under Steve’s touch, leaning in, looking hungry. And Steve _knows_ it, he _does_ , but it’s always nice to be _reminded_ : Billy’s a _sucker_ for Steve Harrington. Weak for him. Over the fucking moon.

“ _Baby_ ,” Billy says, like that’s supposed to _stop_ Steve, or to convince him to move his hand.

Steve squeezes high on Billy’s thigh, closer to his crotch than he is away from it. Wetting his lips, Steve tilts his head over, not quite kissing along Billy’s jaw-- but dragging his mouth along the line of it, until he can mutter in his ear.

“ _Billy_ ,” he says, in the same low tone, fingers teasing at the inseam of his jeans. “What? You asked. You don’t wanna know when I want you?”

Steve can _hear_ Billy breathing. It’s so loud. It makes Steve’s heart race, to think that he’s doing this, that he’s the one that’s got Billy getting all hot and heavy in the middle of campus.

“What time should I come over for dinner?” Billy asks, like he’s having trouble getting the words out.

Steve hums and he feels warm, like in the forest, but not in a way that makes him _dizzy_. Instead it makes him feel-- _thrilled_. Like there’s nothing but adrenaline pumping through his veins. Like he’s about to run a marathon.

“Seven,” Steve tells him, hand inching that much higher, teeth dragging against the shell of Billy’s ear. “I’m gonna make you dinner, and then I’m gonna finally get you in my mouth.”

Billy makes a noise in his throat, like a _whine_.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Billy breathes out and Steve can feel him shiver under his touch. “Yeah, okay.”

His hips shift underneath Steve’s hand, squirming in his seat.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, pulling back a little, grinning wide; _palming_ over him. “You like the sound of that, sweetheart?”

Billy’s hips _buck_ and he gasps, like he’s surprised that Steve is actually touching him like this, in public. But he doesn’t push Steve back, doesn’t pull him off.

Just says, “We could go somewhere. Right now. _Uh_ \--” he groans, eyes darting to the side of them. “Behind the library. No one’s ever back there. _Fuck,_ Steve --”

Steve feels something zip right through him. Something like _delight_.

He kinda feels _high_.

“I know some place _better_ ,” Steve tells him, thumbing over his fly. “If you’re interested.”

“Where?” Billy asks, sounding breathless. _Looking_ it, too -- eyes dark, like he can’t even really focus.

“The history stacks,” Steve says, hand settled over him, rubbing _idly_. “No one ever goes back there. Remember? That’s where you gave me those flowers.”

“I don’t really --” Billy says, but then Steve’s fingers catch him in just the right way and he has to bite back a groan. “Fuck, yeah, okay -- just -- _fuck_ , I wanna get my hands on you.”

“I’m not stopping you,” Steve says.

“The library’s so _far_ ,” Billy says.

Steve squeezes at him again, and he honestly can’t believe he’s _doing_ this. Like he’s _addicted_ to the way Billy _reacts_ to him.

“What, sweetheart?” Steve asks. “You want me to get you off _here_?”

And sure, they’re out in the open, but it’s not like there’s really anyone else _around_. They _could_ do this.

Billy’s hips jerk up. He leans in and breathes over Steve’s mouth, not quite kissing him, not quite _not_ , either.

“You drive me _crazy_ ,” Billy says.

Steve laughs a little, nose nudging against his, lips just grazing Billy’s. “I drive _you_ crazy?”

“Yeah?” Billy breathes out, and his hips rock up again, seeing out more friction, not seeming to care at _all_ anymore that they’re in public.

“Yeah,” Steve says, palming him again, breath coming a little quicker as Billy pulls him closer. “I can’t stop _thinking_ about you. You’re like sex on _legs_.”

“I want you so bad,” Billy says. “So fucking bad. I want -- I want everything, with you.”

“Yeah, I think I remember that.” Steve says, petting him through his jeans with a steadier rhythm, practically kissing the words into his mouth. “Run away and get married, right? Well, I can’t run away, and we can’t get married, so-- you’ll just have to deal with me making you dinner and then _blowing your mind_.”

“Yeah, _yeah_ ,” Billy pants, reaching out to fist his fingers into the fabric of Steve’s shirt. He’s so _hard_ under Steve’s touch, it’s not difficult to imagine how turned on he is, how much he must hurt, straining his jeans like that. “Fuck, _please_ ,” he says, like he wants _all_ of that, not just the dinner and Steve’s mouth.

Like he really wants him, like he really wants to run away with him.

And there’s a heat to that that’s _terrifying_ \-- but it’s hot, too. Exhilarating.

Steve hums, kissing him long and slow and sweet. Pressing down to give something for Billy to rut against.

“Anything you want, Billy.” Steve tells him, rubbing.

“You,” Billy pants, catching Steve in half a kiss. “Just you.”

He sounds so close. Like he’s barely hanging on by a thread.

“You already got me, Billy.” Steve tells him, a little firmer in the way he’s palming him and petting him. “I’m yours, remember? Forever.”

“Forever,” Billy breathes out.

And then he’s shattering under Steve’s hand, crumpling into the safety of Steve’s neck, biting back a groan.

Steve didn’t expect it to be so _easy_.

He strokes him through it. Keeps his hand there as Billy strains into his touch. Gasps as Billy’s teeth find his throat, his pulse, and then the heat of his tongue follow.

“That was _so_ hot,” Steve tells him, voice low.

He can feel the dampness of Billy’s come in his jeans. Can feel the way he’s softening underneath Steve’s touch.

He feels powerful, to have brought someone like Billy to his metaphorical knees.

“Yeah,” Billy breathes out, teeth grazing against Steve’s skin. “Tell me what you want,” Billy says. “C’mon. I’ll do anything.”

“I am so-- _so_ good,” Steve says, pressing his cheek to Billy's curls, eyes fluttering shut, high on Billy's release under his hand. “So good, Billy. _Jesus_.”

“You sure?” Billy asks, voice rough, sounding tired.

“ _So_ fucking good, Billy.” Steve says.

“I could suck you off right here,” Billy offers, like he doesn’t give a _shit_ about dropping to his knees and blowing Steve in the middle of campus.

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Suck me off later. I don't need to get arrested for indecent exposure. Again.”

“ _Again_?” Billy asks, sounding delighted -- apparently enough to pull back and look at Steve, amusement in his eyes.

Steve shrugs, face warm, and he presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Definitely _not_ a story he wants Billy to have on him.

So, he presses at Billy's crotch-- feels that wetness there and hears Billy hiss.

“You’re gonna be the _death_ of me,” Billy says, shifting, jerking, hips shaking. And he looks a little bit like he _wants_ , mouth dropping open, nearly full-on panting. “Don’t you want me alive later?”

“It'll be a good death,” Steve promises, kissing at the corner of his mouth.

“Sure fucking will,” Billy says, grin wide, teeth white. So goddamn _pleased_.

Finally, Steve pulls his hand back to himself and pops a fry into his mouth. “So. My place at seven?”

“Your place. Seven.”

-*-

It’s not a surprise when Billy shows up promptly at seven. But the bouquet of flowers in his hands, is. Not that he hasn’t done it before, not that he _doesn’t_ seem to like wooing Steve in this old-fashioned way, but -- it’s not like he _has_ to, anymore.

So, when Billy grins and hands over a bouquet of red roses, pink lilies, and baby’s breath, all Steve can do is stare at them.

“These are pretty,” Steve finally says, a little dumb, blinking and then smiling over at him. “But, like, you _know_ you don't have to bring me flowers every time I invite you over, right?”

“Well _yeah_ ,” Billy says. “But I don’t want you to forget how much I like you.”

He presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek and follows him into the kitchen.

It’s when Steve’s putting the bouquet in water that he sees them: a couple flowers of morning glory, peeking through the roses.

Steve blinks at them. Falters and touches his fingertips to them, barely ghosting over the soft petals, like he's worried they might disappear.

“Where'd you even get these?” Steve asks.

“What, can’t a guy have his secrets?” Billy says, grin wide, like he’s pleased with himself. “Do you like ‘em?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, eyes still on the slow unfurled white petals. “I like them.”

“ _Good_ ,” Billy says, and he looks like he’s glowing, like he’s so happy with himself. “I hoped you would.”

Finally, Steve pulls himself away from the flowers and over to the white wine sauce that's reducing on the stove.

“Well, I hope you like Italian. Because that's what I'm making.”

“I'll like anything you make me.”

Which is sweet. But, like everything Billy says, it's a little _much_.

“Trust me, you _won't_. But hopefully you'll like _this_.”

“I would,” Billy says. “Trust _me_.”

Billy hovers while Steve cooks. Cuts bread, pours wine, does some dishes while Steve minds the stove. It's pretty damn _domestic_ , which is kind of strange, to see someone like Billy so easily settling down. Especially when Steve _knows_ he's never done something like this before. Never dated anyone, Billy had said.

It's like jumping in head first into murky waters, but Billy seems to be doing just fine.

Like before, Billy eats like he's ravenous. Like it's the best thing he's ever tasted.

“Did you even eat _lunch_?” Steve asks, when he goes back for heaping seconds.

“Not really. Besides -- it's _good_.”

“It's my nonna's recipe. It _better_ be good.” Steve says, around another bite, watching him from across the table. “I'm glad you like it. It's almost like you've never had someone _cook_ for you.”

“I haven't,” Billy says, so simply.

“Never?” Steve frowns.

“No?” Billy says. And then, like, when he thinks _better_ of it, or something: “My family was never really big on cooking.”

“Oh,” Steve says, nodding; then, as he's pushing some pasta around his plate and after he's taken a large gulp of wine. “Where is your family? You don't-- I mean, you don't really talk about them.”

Billy doesn't say anything for a moment -- then, he shrugs.

“Most of them are dead. The ones who aren't, I've lost touch with.”

Steve sinks into his chair, face breaking a little, something familiar tugging in his chest. He recognizes the bittersweet taste of it.

Loneliness.

“I'm so sorry,” Steve says, nudging at Billy's toe with his under the table.

Suddenly, a lot about Billy makes more sense. The clawing need to be noticed. The need for attention. The way he thinks about _forever_ and clings to it like scripture.

“It's okay,” Billy says. “It is what it is, you know? That's the order of things.”

“Still,” Steve shrugs. “It can't be easy. I mean, my parents aren't around, but I could always call them.”

“No one's ever really _gone_ gone,” Billy says. “Everyone's a part of the greater whole. The universe doesn't destroy, it just changes. Creates anew.”

Steve can't help but smile a little at that. “You're getting philosophical on me, again.”

“Is that bad?” Billy asks. “There's comfort in the order of everything. Humans get so caught up in the small stuff. The inconsequential.”

“No, it's--” Steve huffs. “I mean, it's _fine_. Just… sometimes what you _say_ doesn't mesh with how you _act_. Like-- _creates anew_? That's… I mean, that's an awful big idea.”

“How am I supposed to _act_?” Billy asks.

“You're _not_ ,” Steve shakes his head. “It's just… I dunno. You're really _smart_. Or, like, that's the wrong word. Maybe wise?”

Billy laughs a little. “That happens when you, I don't know, when you've seen a lot.”

“You've seen a lot?” Steve asks. “I mean-- you can't be much older than me.”

“I'm older than I look,” Billy says, pushing back from the table, grabbing his plate and then Steve's. “Besides, even if we _were_ the same age, sometimes it's about life experiences. The stuff you've gone through. It shapes who you are and how you see the world.”

“I guess,” Steve says, watching him. “You don't have to clean up, you know.”

“Yeah, but you cooked,” Billy says, already moving into the kitchen. “What, am I just supposed to let you do it all? That's not very good balance in a relationship, is it?”

“And we _definitely_ need to worry about balance,” Steve says, a little dubious and very dry, pushing from his seat to follow after him. “I feel very overworked, after all. I mean, so unappreciated. It's like you don't even like me except for my food.”

“I'm not very good at -- this kind of stuff,” Billy says, motioning to the kitchen. “I make some mean pancakes, but those were _easy_ to learn.”

“Billy,” Steve says, carefully pulling himself up onto the counter with his good hand, waiting until Billy looks at him. “I'm joking. I'm glad you like my food. I'm happy to feed you.”

“I _like_ you feeding me,” Billy says, as he finishes up the dishes.

When he's done, when everything's in the drying rack, glistening with droplets of water, Billy moves into the space between Steve's legs.

“I like you doing things for me. I like you _being_ there.” He leans forward, lips brushing against Steve's. “I like _you_.”

Steve's throat works. “I like you, too.”

Billy catches the words off his lips in a kiss, going up on his toes to steal a little height for himself, hands settling on Steve's thighs, sighing into it like he's truly _content_.

Steve shivers. It feels like _so much_. Like adoration, being pressed right to his lips.

And Steve _knows_ he said _forever_. He just can't imagine Billy actually _wanting_ that with him.

He can't imagine that with anyone, really. Not to _mention_ Billy Hargrove.

“Is dinner over?” Billy asks. “Can I get my hands all over you, now?”

Steve nods. “Whatever you want.”

“Careful, baby,” Billy says. “I want so _much_.”

Billy picks him off the counter. It's all Steve can do to wrap his legs around Billy's waist and let himself be carried into the living room. Billy doesn't even bother with lights, just plops Steve down on the couch in the darkness, climbing over top of him by only the glow of the moonlight from the wide windows, with the light of the adjoining rooms and the light of the pool filtering in.

Steve laughs a little as Billy dips down to kiss him.

“This seems awful familiar,” Steve says.

“You gonna stop me this time?” Billy asks.

Despite the fact that, originally, _he_ was the one who wanted to go slow. The one who thought Steve _wasn't ready_.

“Maybe,” Steve says, grinning, heart already picking up in his chest. “But only because I promised to get you in my mouth, tonight.”

“Fuck yes,” Billy says, dipping in to catch Steve in another slow kiss. “Tell me how you want me and I'm yours.”

“Whatever’s easiest, honestly.” Steve says, curving up to meet him, pulling at his shirt, just wanting _skin_.

Billy gives it to him, pushing back to shuck his shirt, gracing Steve with the wall of muscle that is Billy Hargrove's chest. Then, he rolls off of Steve into the space next to him, stretches his arms above his head, and says: “I'm all yours, baby.”

Spread out like a _gift_.

Steve is quick to sit up. He fumbles off his sling, thrumming with anticipation, and twists over until he can climb over Billy's thighs.

Staring down at him, he takes in all of that gold skin with a keen hunger. Trails his fingertips over the flex of muscle as Billy breathes.

“You might have to help me when we get to the good part,” Steve tells him with a wiggle of his fingers in his cast, dipping down and pressing a kiss to the center of Billy's chest.

“Don't think I'll need your hands at all,” Billy says, and he sounds hungry, already reaching down to pop the button on his jeans and undo his fly.

Steve's head is clearer now than it had been last time, in the clearing. There's still a rush of heat, but he feels less crazed, less overwhelmed. He wonders if Billy feels the same.

“No?” Steve asks. “You gonna make it easy on me, baby?”

“I think you're gonna make it easy for _me_ ,” Billy says, voice already rough. Reaching down to thumb over Steve's bottom lip. Pushing, pulling it out a little as he hums.

Steve shudders, mouth falling open, tongue touching to the pad of his thumb. He tastes salt there-- and something sweet. Something electric. A bit like licking a battery.

His breath catches, and his eyes go heavy as Billy feeds his thumb in a little, until it's pressing in and pressing his tongue _down_ , and Steve _moans_.

Billy doesn’t give an answering sound, but he does start to breathe harder, open-mouthed and hot.

“Please,” Billy says. “Want you.”

His voice is rough, low. Under Steve, Billy squirms.

It feels powerful, having someone like Billy belly-up for him. Naked and bare from the waist up. Looking vulnerable -- if Billy were to ever look truly _exposed._

Steve nods, pulling back, shimmying down. He dips down, placing a smattering of kisses to Billy's abdomen as he works his way lower. Feels the muscles tighten and flutter.

He bites somewhere near Billy's navel and tugs at his jeans, wanting to get them lower. Practically _drooling_ , he wants Billy's cock in his mouth so bad.

Billy shifts underneath him, planes of his stomach and muscles lit up blue from the light filtering in from outside.

When Steve tugs on Billy’s jeans, Billy lifts his hips up so that they slide down easy. His cock springs free, hard and wanting, already leaking a bit at the tip, glistening. He’s not even wearing _underwear_. It’s kind of obscene.

“ _Baby_ ,” Billy says, fingers getting into Steve’s hair, gentle. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Steve groans a little. He presses his mouth to Billy's hip and then his nose just above Billy's groin, just breathing him in.

The air thrums electric around them, potential hanging heavy in all the spaces in between.

He shouldn’t feel like he’s giving Billy so much, but he kind of does, anyway.

“Please,” Billy says, quiet, fingers tracing over Steve’s scalp.

Steve takes him in his good hand and strokes up. Steadies him, presses his lips to the base, and then licks along the hot pulse of a vein before wrapping his lips around him.

Billy lets out a low sound that fills the entire room, muscles going slack when Steve finally gets his lips around him. He curses, fingers tightening in Steve’s hair.

He doesn’t buck his hips. But Steve can tell he’s straining, trying to keep himself still.

Steve sucks. Takes him a little deeper, gets him nice and wet, tongue pressing along the length of him as he sinks down. Wants to tell him to _let go_. To _take_.

So, he pulls off and does.

“Let go, sweetheart.” Steve says, kissing down his cock as it _pulses._ “I can take it. I can take whatever you give me.”

And then he gets his mouth on him again.

Billy groans when Steve’s lips encircle him again, needy and strung out, like Steve’s truly driving him crazy with just a simple touch. With just the warm wetness of his mouth.

And Billy doesn’t _say_ anything, but Steve can feel the way he lets go in waves. His muscles loosen, his hips moving up and off the couch beneath them, thrusting up into Steve’s mouth -- first, gently, then, with each thrust, a little less restrained.

Steve sucks in short, sharp breathes between thrusts. Feels Billy's fingers tighten in his hair as he rocks up, filling up Steve's mouth, cock heavy and heady on his tongue.

He tries. Tries not to lose himself to it-- the heat of Billy in his mouth, the strain of his jaw, the way his cock kicks in his jeans when Billy presses deeper and he chokes a little-- but it's so _fucking_ good. Hearing him groan, feeling him pulse and swell a little in his mouth, having him _fuck_ past the obscene stretch of his lips, listening to his own choked off breath and the slick _wet_ rolling down his chin as Billy thrusts and pulls and groans.

It's so good it makes him squeeze at Billy's thighs. Makes his eyes roll back for a second. Makes his chest and neck and face feel _hot_. Makes him dig his nails in at Billy's hips as he bobs his head to take _more_. Makes his belly feel twisted and warm and heavy at the thought of gagging on Billy, of getting him all the way inside, like he keeps dreaming.

Billy lasts longer than it sounds like he will, with all the noises he's making. But eventually Billy's grunting and tugging at Steve's hair -- not at all trying to pull him off, but warning him.

So Steve sinks down _further_. Finally feels Billy inch into his throat. Presses his nose to the curls around the base of him and _swallows_ and _stays_.

Billy's quiet when he comes, noises turned into a sharp exhale of breath -- like he’d been holding it in.

His hips shake and shutter, jerking into Steve's mouth, as Billy comes down his throat.

And then Billy's tugging at his hair again, gentle but urgent, trying to ease Steve off of him, but slowly.

“Fuck, c’mere. Gotta kiss you. Holy _shit,”_ Billy says. And he sounds _wrecked._

Steve makes him _wait_. Loves just how fucking strung out Billy sounds. Loves that _he_ did that. He got perfect, charming, always cool Billy Hargrove to sound like _this_.

When Billy pulls at his hair again, shifting like he's squirming, Steve finally pulls off gasping. Lets Billy pull him up and coax him close with frantic hands. Meets his mouth with open, breathless kisses.

The kiss is hot, _searing_. Billy lapping at Steve's mouth like he's hungry for the taste of himself. Like he can't get enough. There's something strained and frantic about it, like Billy's even _more_ turned on than before. Just by this.

His hands are _everywhere._ Pulling at Steve's clothes, reaching down to palm him through his pants.

Steve moans, bucking into his touch. He feels like he could come _right now_ , he's so amped up. So breathless. So _wanting_.

He _ruts_ against Billy's palm like he _needs_ it. Like he's half out of his mind with that need. Still tastes Billy on his tongue, in his mouth, feels like the heat of it settled in his gut like a drug-- and he wants _more_.

Whines with how much he wants it. “ _Please_ , Billy.”

“What do you want,” Billy asks. “My hand, my mouth? Give you anything, baby.”

Steve doesn't know. He doesn't _care_.

He just _wants_.

“Just-- anything.” Steve says, between kisses. “Anything, Billy.”

Billy fumbles with the button on Steve's fly, with the zipper. He gets his fingers around Steve’s cock, his hand so warm, stroking Steve quickly, not bothering to string him out. Just giving him everything he needs.

Steve’s hips twitch forward. He meets the rhythm of Billy’s hand on him. Fucks into his hand, gasping and panting against Billy’s mouth.

He feels like he’s been waiting for this for _hours_. Feels like he’s gonna spill out in three seconds flat. So _sensitive_. So _needy_. Feels a little light headed with it.

“Baby,” Billy pants against his lips, like he's just as worked up as before. Like he's feeling just how needy _Steve_ is. “Baby, you're so fucking _hot_.”

Billy thumbs over the head of him, teasing. Grinning into the kiss. Unyielding.

Steve whines a little, and nods, because he _is_ hot. He’s on _fire_. Everywhere Billy touches lighting him up.

It doesn’t take much more than that. Just Billy’s teeth at his lower lip. Just his fingers tightening around him. Just his hand under his shirt, big a warm on his side, holding him steady.

Steve gasps, voice gone, as he spills out over Billy’s fingers and his stomach.

Billy kisses him through it, hand milking him as he comes, as the last waves of his orgasm roll through him.

“Mine,” Billy says, into the kiss, against Steve's lips.

Steve nods, a little dumb, too blissed to do anything else. Just kisses him and rides it out.

“Yours,” he says, eyes half lidded, body going easy even with that low heat still in his belly.

Billy curls his fingers around Steve one last time and then lets him go, removing his hand to pull it up to his face, tongue laving over his fingers. Licking Steve's come off his hand while keeping his eyes heavy on Steve.

Steve can’t help but laugh a little, still panting. “You’re so fuckin’ gross.”

But then he shimmies back down, dipping his head, and dragging his tongue over the mess he made of Billy’s stomach.

Billy groans, hips lifting off of the couch, seeking more contact.

“If _I’m_ gross, you're fucking gross too,” Billy breathes, sounding like he doesn't think it's very gross at _all_.

Steve grins, teeth against his navel, and he glances up at Billy. He feels _hungry_. Hungry for more of this, more of Billy laid out like this, wants it _all the time_.

That warmth in his belly twists and pulls a little taut. He licks up his own come and pulls at Billy’s jeans to get them the rest of the way off and down his thighs.

“Yeah,” he says, panting and biting at Billy’s hip. “Just a bit.”

“Not done, baby?” Billy asks, letting Steve shuffle him out of his jeans, gone all easy for him, soft.

Still lapping up the last of Steve's come from his fingers.

“Have you seen you?” Steve asks, once Billy’s bare for him, spread out and lovely on his couch.

For a second, Steve just admires him. The easy way he’s draped across the cushions for him, _letting_ Steve look his fill. The idle way he tucks a hand under his head while he cleans off the other with that wicked tongue.

The way he watches Steve right back.

Steve pushes up, pulls his shirt over his head, cast catching in the sleeve for a second, and shoves his pants and underwear down. Climbs back on top of Billy, knees pressing into the couch on either side of his thighs, and plays his fingertips up along the flex of Billy’s abdomen. Feels his stomach pull _tight_ with want at the warmth of Billy’s skin.

Feels that heat in his stomach spread like _wild fire_.

“Could never be done with you,” Steve says, curving over him, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest, just wanting to press close and _feel him_ for a while.

Billy gets his hands on Steve's hair, threading through it. Touch gentle, easy. Loving.

When Steve looks up, Billy's watching him with dark eyes. Like he's the most beautiful thing Billy’s ever seen.

Distantly, Steve realizes this is the first time they’ve been actually, properly naked with one another. The first time they’ve had no barriers between them.

Steve _blushes_.

“What?” he asks. “You’re staring.”

“You're gorgeous,” Billy says. So goddamn sincere.

Thumb, smoothing down the side of Steve's face. Steve leans into it, eyes going heavy again, face burning and ears hot.

“That’s my line,” Steve mumbles, because it’s true; Billy is gorgeous, laid out in dim blue light, just for Steve.

“Nah, baby. That's definitely you.”

When Steve kisses over his heart, Billy _groans_. So he does it again. Kisses and then licks up his chest and then bites at his collar. Steadies himself with his hands braced at Billy’s sides. Feels Billy’s fingers drag through his hair, over and over as he makes his path over Billy’s skin with lips and teeth and tongue, until Steve feels light headed and lazy, heat pooling low beneath his navel.

“You’re so gorgeous, Billy. Hardly hold a _candle_ to you.” Steve mutters, mouth to Billy’s throat. “Want you so _bad_. Want your hands all over me.”

“Want that too,” Billy says. “Want all of you. Wanna give you everything.”

Billy runs his thumb over Steve's lower lip, smudging the spit there. Admiring it.

“But not quite yet. Want it to be perfect,” Billy says.

Steve nods, pursing his lips enough to kiss at Billy’s thumb, because usually he wouldn’t be one to care about cliches-- first times with a new partner aren’t known for being _perfect_ \-- but he wants that with Billy. _For_ Billy. Since he wants it so bad.

“We’ll just have to get inventive, then.” Steve says, laying out over him, until it’s just skin on skin on skin.

Billy sighs, sounding so content.

Arms going around Steve.

“I'm all for inventive.”

-*-

The moon is high in the sky of the clearing. It should be cold-- a clear night, so close to winter. Steve should be _freezing_.

But he’s burning up. On _fire_. Sweat rolling over his bare skin, practically burning right off of him, as he moves. As he pants and gasps and moans into the silent night.

It’s so _still_. It’s so _quiet_. The only thing he can hear is his own voice and the slick, obscene sound of Billy driving into him.

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

Clutching at the ground, fingers digging into the earth, Steve falls forward onto his elbows as Billy drags him back by the hips. He feels so _full_. He feels so _hot_.

He doesn’t remember how he _got_ here.

Between his thighs, his cock hangs heavy and weeping. He wants to reach for it, to help himself get over the edge, that edge that seems so _far_ but also like it’s _right there_. He doesn’t. Instead, he presses his hand to his stomach, fingers splaying out.

There’s come dripping down his thighs. Like maybe he’s been here for a _while_. He feels so _full_.

He doesn’t remember how he _got here_.

It’s so quiet. _Billy’s_ so quiet. All Steve can hear is the sound of their bodies meeting.

He wants to see him. Wants to hear him. Wants to touch him. His arm is all better. It’s their perfect first time and Steve wants to _see_ him.

“Billy,” he gasps, and it echoes off of the trees, like it’s the only word that’s been spoken out here. “Billy, _please_.”

The cock spreading him open, taking him hard and fast, driving in deeper and _deeper_ , pulses inside of him. Steve can _feel it_. Can feel him spill out, fill him up _more_ , until he’s gasping and shaking and spasming over that cock. Until he’s collapsed forward, panting against the earth, steam burning off his skin with how _hot_ he is.

He feels _full_. So fucking _full_.

Billy rocks and Steve chokes on a whimper.

“ _Billy_ ,” he says, like a plea.

Like a prayer.

Billy doesn’t reply. Just holds him by the hips, keeps himself buried inside, claws scratching at Steve’s skin.

 _He doesn’t remember how he got here_.

A big, cool hand eases up his spine. Fingers sink into his hair. Claws drag over his scalp. Steve _shakes_.

Steve feels dizzy. He doesn’t understand. That cock in him is _too big_. Those hands are _too big_. The body that drapes over him, like a freezing, blistering weight is _too big_.

Steve feels something churn in his stomach.

“ _Mine_ ,” a voice says, in his ear, an inhuman, guttural thing.

Those hips rock in, that cock twitches inside him. Steve’s breath comes faster and faster.

The moonlight pours over them in blue. Steve sees shadows stretching long. Sees antlers arching over the ground in front of him, gnarled and long.

Those hips draw back and then snap forward again. Steve cries out. It rings in his ears.

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

A hand fists in his hair. It pulls, until Steve is arching, head forced back as they start moving again.

Steve’s fingers dig in to the dirt. He trembles. He feels so hot, feels like he’s gonna _die_ , his vision swims.

“No,” he breathes.

In the sky, the moon _bleeds_.

Steve feels like he’s gonna choke on his own heart, it’s beating so fast. He tastes copper in his mouth. The light cloaks them in _red_.

“ _No_ ,” Steve says again, panic bubbling up under his ribs, pleasure making him weak.

Vines curl up from the earth, spidering over his hands. Slinking over his ankles and up his calves, anchoring around his wrists and his knees.

A big hand presses to his stomach. Long, pitch black fingers splay there, claws digging in at tender flesh, blood welling up in a slow ooze. Dragging him back to meet the body behind him with slick, sick slaps.

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

“ _All mine_ ,” that eerie, terrible voice says again.

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

Steve tries to focus. Tries to bring his mind away from the pleasure-- the pressure-- the _heat_.

“ _Always mine_ ,” the voice says, driving in _harder_ , like they’re making a _claim_ , like they’re _proving it_ , like they need to _show it to the world_.

Steve cries out again. Then again. He blinks, tugging at his hands, trying to get free.

It’s so quiet. Except for them. It’s so _quiet_.

Like everything else is gone. Like everything else is _dead_.

He looks, then, in this world of red, to the trees. Screams when he sees the bodies, strung up and dangling, like dolls tangling in their own strings. Rotten and spilling out. Six of them, hanging there, from the branches, like a sacrifice.

“ _Mine_ ,” the voice says again, and that shadow of those antlers _tower_ over him, a wet tongue licks at his ear, a cock drives into him again and again and _again_. “ _Mine, mine, mine_.”

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

And then there are teeth. Sharp and relentless, burying into his throat and his shoulder, mouth _too big_. And then _it’s coming_ , filling him up _more_ , breaking him _apart_.

Steve screams as he comes, too.

-*-

Steve screams as he wakes up.

-*-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at the end of the chapter steve has a feverish, disjointed dream/nightmare that can be read as dubcon/noncon.


	6. i can bring your fears to life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings for this chapter** : body horror, gore, human experimentation, experimentation on a child

Steve’s still shaking when Billy runs up the stairs and finds him, curled into himself and pressed back against the headboard of his bed. Still shaking as Billy coaxes him out of the bed, not touching him, as he tells him _don’t worry, baby, I’ll clean this up_ because Steve’s sheets are a mess of sweat and his own come. Still shaking as Billy helps him walk to the bathroom, to the shower, starts the water for him and gets it warm because Steve’s _teeth_ are chattering.

Still shaking when Billy carefully, like Steve might bolt, takes his face between his hands-- so _warm_ , so _perfect_ \-- and looks him over.

“You okay, baby?”

Steve’s throat works. His tongue feels dry. His throat rough and tight and sore. He nods.

“Cold,” he rasps. “I feel like I’m fuckin’ freezing.”

“Let’s get you warmed up, then.” Billy says, brows pinched, frown so severe on his face. “You wanna be alone?”

Steve crowds in close, panic clawing up from the back of his mouth. “ _No_.”

He woke up and Billy wasn't _there_. He had to wake up alone, in a panic, even though he fell asleep curled up in Billy's arms.

“I'm right here, baby. Not going anywhere.”

Steve nods, pressing his face against Billy’s shoulder, sliding his arms around him and clinging tight. Billy’s got one of Steve’s shirts on-- that old one, from high school, that he keeps stealing-- and a pair of sweats. Steve is totally bare in comparison.

“You should get under the water, baby.”

But he doesn't push. Like he knows better.

“You’ll get in with me?” Steve asks, and he feels _dumb_ now-- now that he’s a little more awake, now that the nightmare is gone and Billy is here-- a little dumb and a little too needy.

“Course I will,” Billy says, and he looks a little concerned, but he doesn't press.

Just strips his own shirt straight over his head.

Once Billy’s naked too, Steve pulls him into the shower with him. The warmth is instant. It prickles, like hot needles, at the coldest parts of him for a minute. He shudders and stands directly under the spray, eyes closed, for a long moment.

Billy's arms wrap around him after a while. Holding. Comforting. Fingers trailing down Steve's spine.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Steve huffs out a breath, going easy against him. “Just a bad dream.”

“Sometimes it helps to talk.”

Steve’s jaw works. His throat still kind of hurts, from screaming himself awake, and he rubs at it.

“Just, uh…” Steve sighs, pulling Billy closer under the water. “Dreamt about the forest. And dead bodies. And monsters.”

“About what you saw in the forest?” Billy asks, slow, _cautious_.

Like Steve's still that startled animal who woke up shivering and shouting in bed.

“I dunno,” Steve shakes his head, tries to remember through the haze that’s settling over the memory of the dream, the way most dreams fade. “I-- I think so. I didn’t _see_ it. I just-- It was-- At first, I thought it was _you_.”

Billy presses his lips to Steve's forehead and hums.

“Do you think I'm a monster, baby?”

Steve laughs. “No. It was just-- I mean, it _started_ a little different than it _ended_.”

Billy pauses, then _chuckles_. “So _before_ there was a monster, you were having a _real_ nice dream about me? Is that what you're saying?”

Steve pinches at his side. “ _Yeah_ , but then it got-- I mean, it got _really bad_.”

“I'm sorry,” Billy says, going from delighted to somber, fast. “I'm sorry, baby.”

“Not your fault,” Steve shrugs. “Just… probably was just the petition and the conversation we had, yesterday. Made my brain play tricks on me since I was thinking about it. You know, the murders and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “But you know you're safe, right? No one's gonna hurt you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks, tone a little lighter, feeling more secure now-- even with a murderer on the loose. “You gonna protect me, big guy?”

“Obviously,” Billy says, mirroring Steve's tone. Sounding _relieved_ that Steve is no longer shaking.

“Oh, what a relief.” Steve says, leaning in, smacking a wet kiss to Billy’s cheek, dry and playful as he gets Billy under the spray of the shower with him. “I was so _worried_ before, but now that _you’re_ here to keep me _safe_ \--”

Billy growls, playful, smacking a kiss against Steve's neck as he's pulled under the water. “Good,” he says arms wrapping a little more tightly around Steve. “Gonna keep you safe.”

Steve hums, sinking his fingers into the wet curls of Billy’s hair. He kisses at his temple, feeling the _warmth_ radiate off of him, eyes falling shut as he savors it.

“Yeah, okay.” Steve says. “I guess I can get on board with that.”

And maybe it's stupid, but Billy sounds so _sure_ , so resolute, even though he's playing, teasing fingers running down Steve's spine -- but Steve feels safer. Like Billy's _got him_.

“Thanks,” Steve says. “For taking care of me.”

“Of course. Always.”

Billy presses his lips to Steve's temple.

“Forever.”

-*-

It’s a relief to get out of the cold and into the campus’ main building when they arrive at school. Winter seems to have come a little early-- even the sky was grey as they climbed out of Steve’s car and walked onto campus together.

Tommy is slumped outside of their lecture hall door when they finally make it upstairs. He perks up when he sees them.

“Hey,” he says. “You guys look _chipper_.”

Steve is still rubbing his hands together from the walk outside, nose and cheeks a little rosy, and he rolls his eyes. “It was probably all of the orgasms.”

Tommy holds up his hand. “Right _on_. Get some, Harrington.”

Steve ignores it, but grins as he shakes his head. “You’re so dumb.”

“And you’re no fun,” Tommy says, turning to Billy. “Tap that, Hargrove.”

Billy gives him a loud high five, looking pleased as punch.

And for a _moment_ , he looks like the guy he _thought_ Billy was, back when they first met. Douchey, only caring about a notch on his belt. It's easy to _see_ it -- but he knows Billy, now. Knows he's after more than that.

Still, Steve shakes his head as he looks at Billy. “And you're dumb, too.”

“You like me anyway,” Billy days, grinning.

“I don't remember saying that,” Steve says, with a haughty little tilt of his chin.

Billy leans in, like he's gonna kiss Steve -- but doesn't. Just gets into his face, like he's _posturing_. “Pretty sure you did,” he says. And then he pinches Steve's side, playful, and turns into the lecture hall, leaving the two of them behind him.

“Definitely didn't,” Steve tells Tommy, who's laughing as they walk in after him.

“Sure you didn't,” Tommy says.

But they all know Steve's a little starry eyed for Billy, even as much as he denies it. Maybe _because_ he denies it.

“Saved you a seat,” Billy says, when Steve gets to his spot. Like he doesn't _always_ sit there, in the same chair since the beginning of the year.

What a _loser_.

“What a hero,” Steve drolls, plopping down into his chair and digging around in his bag for his notebook. “Careful, I might swoon.”

“I’ll catch you, pretty boy. Don’t worry.”

He’s all grins, the kind that he uses when he wants to be _especially_ charming.

Like something’s put Billy in the best kind of mood.

“You're _really_ milking this, aren't you?” Steve asks.

“Maybe,” Billy says. “Do you hate it?”

“Not yet,” Steve says. “But watch yourself.”

“What, am I coming on too strong for you?” Billy asks, and he _sounds_ like he’s kidding, like he’s continuing the joke. But Steve wonders if he’s actually concerned.

“You _know_ you're already sleeping with me, right?” Steve asks, eyes narrowing, grinning helplessly. “Like, you don't have to try so hard.”

“But what if I _wanna_?” Billy asks. “I mean, I _do_ wanna keep you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks. “You wanna _keep_ me?”

“Well _yeah_ ,” Billy says, leaning close, voice dropping because the teacher has walked in. “Forever.” Billy says. “That’s a long time you know.”

“ _Very_ long,” Steve says, voice just as low. “Years and years and _years_ of looking at _my_ stupid face.”

And Billy has the audacity to look lovestruck. _Dreamy_.

“Yeah,” he says. “Exactly.”

Steve feels warm. “Shut up.”

Tommy grunts from Steve's other side. “ _Both_ of you shut up.”

“Wanna make me, Hunt?” Billy says, grin wild, feral.

“I'll be on you like a spidermonkey.”

Steve laughs, muffling it behind a hand. “That's actually not a joke.”

Billy cackles, until their professor hushes them. Only then does Billy settle down in his chair, still looking pleased and content with himself.

Class goes by quick, after that.

Especially considering Billy sneaks his hand over Steve's thigh halfway through. Fingers drumming right against the seam of his jeans, a little high, between the heat of his thighs.

And when Steve shifts, Billy _squeezes_.

So after, when they're threading out of class, Steve catches Billy's wrist and drags him after him down the hall to the fading sound of Tommy's wolf whistle. Drags Billy after him down the stairs and into the nearest empty lecture hall.

Shoves him up against the closed door and kisses him hard, his backpack dropping to his feet.

“Jeez, pretty boy. What’s got _you_ all worked up?” Billy says, like he doesn’t _know_ that it’s him. Like he doesn’t try to work Steve up every time he sees him.

“I'd say _you_ , but I don't wanna give you the satisfaction.” Steve says, pulling Billy's shirt open a little just to bite at his chest. “So, I'm gonna say it was that _riveting_ lecture on the war practices of the middle east.”

“ _Ooh_ ,” Billy says. “The Gulf War really get you going?” he says, hands going to Steve’s hips. “All that political friction?”

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Steve says, kissing up his throat. “ _Political friction_. Talk dirty to me, baby.”

Billy grunts, but he pulls back, looking a little ruffled. “I don’t -- not in here,” he says, looking a little pained. “There’s people everywhere.”

“Then don't _grope_ me in class,” Steve says, grinning as he pulls back.

“I didn’t think you were gonna pull me into an empty classroom and beg me to talk dirty to you,” Billy says, but he’s grinning. Already tugging Steve toward the door again. “We’ll be late for lunch.”

“ _Now_ , who's no fun?” Steve asks, letting Billy pull him along.

Outside, Billy pulls him off to the side of the path and kisses him again. Deep and hungry, hands going back to Steve’s waist.

“I’m _always_ fun,” he says, as he pulls back, grinning.

“Uh huh,” Steve huffs, fisting his hand in Billy's shirt to kiss him one more time-- chaste, with just a hint of tongue, before pulling away. “ _Trouble._ You're trouble.”

“I know,” Billy says, face bright with delight. “And you’re _into_ it.”

Steve laughs as he walks along, Billy not far behind. “I _never_ said that--”

“Steve!” Nancy calls, suddenly and sharply, and Steve is floored by the panic in her tone.

Brought completely to a stop.

“Nance?”

She runs up to him, a paper clutched in hand. There are _tears_ in her eyes.

Steve reaches out and steadies her, a hand on her arm.

“It's awful, Steve-- it's _awful_ \--”

“What _is_ it?” Steve asks, voice cracking.

“They found --” she says, but then she stops. Voice trembling. “More.”

She pushes the paper toward him and there it is, plastered all over the front page: bodies.

Steve feels something go _cold_ in him. Something burning cold, _freezing_ , his fingers going numb and a ringing in his ears.

Bodies. Hanging from the trees, dangling there. Little dolls tangled up on their own strings.

He stumbles back, like the paper itself is gonna hurt him, thumping right into Billy's chest. He's not breathing. He's _shaking._

Billy's arms go around him, quick. Warm and safe.

“It's okay,” he says. “I've got you.”

“It's not okay,” Steve breathes between the sudden chatter of his teeth. “Billy, it's _not okay_. That's-- there's-- _Billy-_ -”

There's decaying bodies, covered in mushrooms and fungus and dirt, hanging from vines from the trees. In _no_ world is anything okay.

“Do you want to go home?” Billy asks.

“We have to,” Nancy says, before Steve can even think to reply. “They're shutting down the campus. There's a mandatory curfew.”

Steve's throat works. “I-- I, uh… I need to call Dustin. Make sure the kids don't-- I mean, they'll do something _stupid_ \--”

“Want us to come over?” Nancy asks, but it sounds more like a request than a question. “Strength in numbers and all that?”

Steve looks at Billy and then nods. “Please.”

“Can I catch a ride with you?” Billy asks. “I'll tag along, while you check on the kids.”

Steve nods. “Please. I'd like that.”

They drop by the high school like that. Billy in Steve's passenger seat, solid and unwavering, his hand resting firm on Steve's leg. The promise of coming home to a full house of people makes Steve's insides feel a little easier, but nothing can get rid of the taste of bile in his throat from that photo.

The strange and phantom taste of _decay_.

He makes Dustin _swear_ that he's going to drive right over to his place. Makes the other kids promise, too, as they stand there huddled in the cold. Jane says she'll tell Hopper. Will says his mom will probably be over to cook up a storm.

Steve drives away feeling a little relieved.

But when they get to his house, when they walk in and shut the door behind them, no one there yet to watch Steve fall apart-- Steve loses it.

Crouches, right there in the foyer, fingers fisted in his hair. Rocking a little. Gagging on his own breath.

Billy’s right there after a beat, arms going around Steve, holding him up when he no longer feels like he can do that anymore. Pressing his lips to Steve’s head, murmuring quiet things, little words of solace.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry, it’ll be okay.”

“No. _No_ , Billy--” Steve shakes his head, eyes burning, throat worse as it works and works. “It was-- _It was real_. Billy, it was _real_.”

“What was real?” Billy asks.

His fingers, which had been smoothing over Steve’s shirt, down his spine, in comforting little circles -- stop.

“The dream,” Steve says, tugging at his hair. “The _dream_ , Billy.”

Billy moves his hands off of Steve’s back and reaches up, fingers encircling Steve’s wrists. Pulling his hands away from his hair.

“It was just a dream, Steve.”

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head. “ _No_ , Billy-- Billy, I _saw them_. I _saw_ them. And I've-- I've _seen_ them. I have! Before, I've _seen them all_ , Billy--”

Billy goes quiet, but he keeps on hugging Steve, too. Fingers around his wrists, careful and collected.

“I’m sorry,” Billy finally says.

Like he thinks Steve’s _crazy_.

Steve jerks back, face twisting up. “You don't believe me?”

Billy goes quiet. “Steve, I --”

“You don't believe me,” Steve says, a little dumb, blinking a few times, blinking away the tears of fear and frustration he hadn't even known he was crying, jerking his wrist from Billy's hand.

Billy doesn’t deserve to look at Steve the way he does, like he’s hurt.

“I _do_ ,” Billy says. “I believe you.”

“ _Do_ you?” Steve asks, shoving clumsily to his feet. “Do you believe _anything_ I've told you?”

“I do,” Billy says, repeating himself, but Steve _can’t_ believe him. Because who in their right mind would _believe_ Steve. “I do, Steve. I promise.”

“ _No_. No, don't _lie_ , Billy, don't--” Steve frowns, hiding his face in a hand. “Oh, my god, you've just been _humoring_ me-- you don't-- I mean, I can't _blame_ you, who the fuck would believe fucking _monsters_ in the woods?”

“ _Steve_ ,” Billy says, but he doesn’t come closer to Steve. Because he’s put off or because he’s afraid of Steve pulling away again -- Steve can’t tell which it is. He just lets his fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach out. “I’m not humoring you. I believe you.”

“You don't,” Steve says, a little soft, a little resigned. “You don't but that's okay. You don't have to. It's crazy.”

“I’m sorry,” Billy says. “I’m sorry you’re seeing that. That must be awful.”

Steve nods.

And then he shakes his head, mouth twisting up. “No. Don't-- Don't do that. Okay? Don't do that.”

“Don’t do what?” Billy asks, looking more lost than Steve feels. And maybe a little frustrated, too.

“Don't… _placate_ me.” Steve says, fingers curling and uncurling. “You don't believe me and that's _fine_. But don't… don't act like you do. Not anymore.”

Billy groans and then twists, turning, fists clenched like he’s annoyed. Breathing in sharp through his teeth.

It takes a second before he turns back to Steve and says, _“Fine_. What _should_ I say?”

“Just… promise me you're not gonna go anywhere.” Steve says, letting out a long, slow breath. “Just stay. And tell me, even if you think I'm crazy, that everything is gonna be okay.”

“I don't think you're crazy and I'm not going anywhere,” Billy says, finally reaching out. “And I _know_ you're gonna be okay. I _promise_ you are.”

And he sounds so sure, so steadfast, that Steve almost believes him.

“Not just _me_ , Billy.” Steve says, watching him draw closer, not budging an inch, selfishly wanting Billy to come to _him_ , even now, even when Steve knows Billy thinks he's a little insane. “ _Everything_. Tell me everything is gonna be okay. Tell me that I'm not gonna have another dream where someone _dies_ again, tonight.”

Billy touches him, though. And when Steve doesn't flinch away, he keeps coming. Touching up Steve's arms, his shoulders, his neck. Until Billy's cupping him by the jaw and pressing close.

“I _promise_ you won't have another dream about someone dying tonight.”

Like if Billy wishes it hard enough, it'll come true.

“Okay,” Steve says, sighs really, and presses his forehead to Billy's. “Okay.”

He can feel Billy's breath, even and warm over his lips.

“I promise,” Billy says. And Steve kind of believes him.

For a while, he kind of stands there, letting that half-belief soak in. Letting it marinate. Until he feels a little more steady.

Then, carefully, he angles his head and presses a kiss to the corner of Billy's mouth.

“Gonna have a full house, soon.”

Billy kisses back. Careful. Soft. Not starting anything like he usually is -- just filled with sheer affection. It's a little dizzying, in a different way than usual.

“We are. What can I do?”

“Clean while I cook?” Steve asks. “Can't order pizza with the curfew. Gonna have, like, five hungry teenagers in here. And Tommy.”

“Do you have enough food?” Billy asks, kissing Steve again. On his lips, on his cheek. Then, he pulls back, hands on Steve’s hips, holding him close.

Keeping him grounded.

“I should,” Steve says. “I think so.”

“I can go to the store, if you want,” Billy says.

Which is brave, because the store is probably going to be _packed_. Everyone doomsday shopping, or whatever.

But it's also _stupid_ , because Billy _just said_ he wouldn't leave.

“No,” Steve says and fists a hand in Billy's shirt _just in case_. “No, everyone will bring something over.”

“Okay,” Billy says, placating. Soft. “Okay, I’m not going anywhere. I just wanted to check.”

“I know,” Steve says, even if he doesn't know, nodding and loosening his hold. “Sorry I'm so-- sorry I'm a crazy person, I guess.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Billy says. “But I _do_ think you’ve got about a hundred dishes in your sink that I should be doing.”

And Steve knows better. He _does_.

But he still can’t help pulling Billy closer, brows pinched, expression tight. “Billy. Maybe it’s _not_ a monster-- but there’s _something_ in the woods. Okay? There’s _something_. And if-- if the bodies in my dreams are real, then… then _that_ has to be real, too. And if that’s real?”

Steve shudders. Remembers that _voice_ , distantly, like an echo in his head. But he remembers it.

And he remembers _liking it_.

“If that’s _real_ \-- I don’t know what to _do_ about it.”

Billy wraps his arms around Steve, tight.

“The universe is a big place. We’ve probably figured out less than one-percent of it. I think anything’s possible,” he says, pressing his lips to Steve’s hair. “Have you ever felt -- threatened? Out in the woods? Or -- in your dreams? Like you were in danger?”

Steve’s instant, gut reaction is to say _yes_. It’s to say _of course_. It’s to ask _are you crazy, of course, yes_.

But then he pauses. He thinks about it.

He says, “No. No, not-- not threatened. Just… watched.”

Steve wets his lips, pulls back, eyes meeting Billy’s.

“Hunted.”

“But not in danger,” Billy reiterates. “Then, I don’t know what you should do, because it sounds like you’re _safe_. If there’s something out there in the woods, it seems to be specifically targeting people who have something to do with the lab. You don’t.”

Steve’s face breaks. “But what about _Barb_?”

“Barb fell,” Billy says. “Right? Her body was normal. Not like any of the other murders. So it was probably just an accident. A mistake.”

“But you don’t know that,” Steve says, a little urgent, a little desperate. “You don’t _know_ that.”

“Okay,” Billy says with a sigh, smoothing his hands down Steve’s back. “But I know that it looks like a pattern, and Barb doesn’t fit the pattern.”

“ _No_ ,” Steve says, and he’s _crying_ again and he hates it, but there’s a ball in his throat, words knotting up and choking him. “No, it _has_ to be-- because if it’s not-- if it’s _not_ , then… then it’s my _fault_.”

His voice cracks and he sobs. He doesn’t mean to and he slaps his hand over his mouth as his shoulders give another shuddering lurch.

“She’s dead,” Steve says, voice wet. “And it’s my fault.”

“Hey,” Billy says. “Hey, it is _not_ your fault. You got separated in the woods, right? It’s not your fault she got lost. It’s not your fault she fell.”

“But I brought her out there,” Steve says. “I told Tommy it would be fun and then we were out there and then I went off the path instead of staying _with_ her and then she was _gone_.”

“It’s _not_ your fault,” Billy says. “You can’t take responsibility for something that was an _accident_ , Steve. It’ll eat you up inside.”

It is. It’s been eating Steve up for days, weeks, _months_.

It’s been eating him from the inside out. The guilt. The fear.

“ _How_?” Steve asks. “How do I stop? How do I accept that it was just an accident?”

“Accidents happen every day. The world -- _nature --_ has no morals. No good, no evil -- just physics and luck. There’s nothing to say that someone else might have died accidentally that night even if you hadn’t been in the woods. Nothing to say that it wouldn’t have been the kids out in the woods, instead. You can’t let guilt eat you up inside, Steve. It _wasn’t_ your fault. It just happened. Another knot in the string of fate.”

Steve's throat works. He swallows once. Twice. And then he nods, nearly sobs again, and presses in close. Presses his cheek to Billy's, shoulders slumping, breath leaving him.

“You’ll feel sad for a long time,” Billy says. “It’ll hurt, and it’ll chafe. But no matter what, it’s not your fault. You’re allowed to grieve without holding yourself accountable.”

Steve falls into him. He sheds a few more tears, just for Barb.

Billy takes him. Holds him. Doesn't shush him or make empty promises. Just lets him _grieve_ for a second.

“I'm a fucking mess, today.” Steve says.

“You’re not. You’re someone who lost a friend who hasn’t had a proper chance to grieve about it.”

Steve breathes out a laugh. “You're like a fucking… fortune cookie.”

“I’ve been around,” Billy says, pressing a kiss to the side of Steve’s head. “It’s just that I’ve seen a lot, that’s all.”

“Still,” Steve says, voice still a little wet, pulling back to meet Billy's eyes, knowing he's a mess. “You always know what to say. Or-- mostly. Mostly, always.”

“What, when I'm not trying to get you to punch me in the face?” Billy says, smiling a little, fingers pulling over Steve's shirt, dropping to his side. “I'm getting better. Just had to figure out who you were. Who you are.”

“Who I am?” Steve tilts his head. “Who am I, then?”

Billy just smiles, leaning forward to press his lips to Steve's forehead.

“Someone strong. Someone resilient. Someone kind. Someone who probably _doesn't_ want to punch me all the time.”

“You're really stuck on this whole punching thing,” Steve says, voice wobbling, something unfurling in his chest that's a little too delicate to name. “I mean, it was _one time_ \--”

“Yeah, but it was kinda _great_ ,” Billy says, but there's no hint of violence to it. Just pure honestly. “You're strong, you're _fierce_. You can hold your own. I love that.”

“You do?” Steve asks, that delicate thing in his chest welling up into his throat.

“Yes,” Billy says, like it's _important_. “You're full of fire. But you're also gentle. It's a good balance. Not many people have that.” Billy kisses him again. “Nature is fierce and kind, too.”

Steve shudders. That delicate thing is threatening to choke him. He presses in close and kisses Billy instead of letting it.

“I want-- I--” Steve sighs, throat working. “ _God,_ I-- I _really_ don't want my house full of people right now but I also-- I also really need them all here. Need them all _safe_. Need _you_ safe.”

“I'm safe. You're safe. They're all safe. I promise, baby.”

“You can't make that kind of promise,” Steve says, but it makes him feel better anyway.

“I can,” Billy says, like if he believes it enough, it's true.

He kisses Steve on the head, tells him they need to do dishes, and somehow, _somehow_ , it feels like everything's edging back toward equilibrium again.

-*-

He ends up with a house full of people and food and smells and sounds. Steve's happy-- he _is._ He's relieved and happy and everywhere all at once.

But-- but it's also a _lot_.

There's a lot of kids. They're settled in the den, playing D&D, and Steve's glad to not have them underfoot. Especially considering he can hear their conspiracy theories through the walls.

Dustin is extremely vehement about the lab experiment monster.

It sets Steve's teeth on edge.

Eventually, Mrs. Byers-- _it's Joyce, sweetie, you know that_ \-- kicks him out of the kitchen because he keeps dropping things.

So, he makes the rounds. Takes a head count. Finds Carol and Nancy curled up in the guest bedroom, talking in hushed tones. Finds all of the kids in the den. Finds Jonathan and Tommy in the living room, smoking a joint. Knows Hopper won't be in until late.

“Where's Billy?” Steve asks, when he's combed through the whole house, shaking his head when Tommy offers the joint up.

“Donno,” Tommy says. “Seemed edgy. I think he went out to smoke.” He blows the smoke up into the air, half at Steve’s face, lips creeping into a smile. “You think he’s _scared_?”

Steve frowns. “Don't be an asshole.”

“I think he's got this big whole fucking _act_. But I think, underneath it all, maybe he's scared just like everyone else.”

“He's not--” Steve stops, wets his lips, sighs. “He woulda _told me_ if he was scared.”

“Would he?” Tommy asks.

“Tommy,” Jonathan says, sighing.

“He would,” Steve insists, but he's not so sure, now.

Steve's been a regular _mess_ since they _met_. Billy's been one of the only things keeping him together half the time.

He wonders if maybe he missed it. Or if maybe he was too wrapped up in his own shit that he didn't _see_ it.

He hopes that that's not the case.

“Don't let the rugrats run wild,” Steve says, and then he's stepping out the back door, shutting it behind him.

He finds Billy easy. He's sitting on the end of the diving board, straddling it, his jeans cuffed up, his toes in the water.

“Hey baby,” Billy says.

He's smoking. Plumes of smoke drifting toward the sky. He doesn't _look_ scared.

Steve hesitates and then pads closer, standing by the edge of the pool. “Hey. Too crowded in there?”

“Yeah. You know me when it comes to small places with too many people.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I remember. You're a regular Jeremiah Johnson.”

“Dunno who that is,” Billy says, and offers Steve his pack and his lighter. “How're you doing?”

“I'm fine,” Steve says, shaking his head at the offer. “How are you?”

“Alright. Better now. The kids are -- a lot.”

The house is _loud_ with them all in it -- Steve's well aware. Their noise bounces off the walls and reverberates around like a piercing echo. It can truly be _a lot_.

“Better now that you're out here with me, too,” Billy says.

Steve smiles-- because he can't really help himself. “I feel like you're exaggerating.”

“I'm really not. I'm always better with you.”

Steve stares at him for a second. Hunts over his face with his eyes.

Feels that delicate thing from earlier that threatens to blossom right below his ribcage.

“Well,” Steve says, dragging a hand through his hair. “I mean, _same_ , but-- I mean, are you sure you're good? Not… nervous or anything about… all this?”

Billy’s face is kind of hidden in shadows, the strange blue light of the pool making him look a little harsh, a little otherworldly. But still Steve can see him raise an eyebrow and look incredulous.

“I told you we’re safe, baby. You still worried?”

“No,” Steve says, and then falters. “I mean, well, _yes_. But-- are _you_? Worried? Or-- Or scared?”

“No,” Billy says, firm. “I don't have any reason to be. You don't either. What's happening is only happening to people involved in that shitshow in the woods.”

“Right,” Steve says. “I mean, I know you keep _saying_ that, but-- But it's _okay_ , you know? If you're scared too.”

“I'm _not_ scared,” Billy says, and he _sounds_ vehement, but he -- also maybe sounds a little scared, too.

Steve's always been able to tell when people are lying to him.

“Billy,” Steve says, and wishes he was close enough to touch. “It's okay _._ If you're scared, it's okay. You don't have to explain. I just… you've been taking such good care of me, and-- and if _you're_ scared, I wanna return the favor.”

“I'm not scared,” Billy repeats, but it's a little softer, a little more hesitant. “Look, I'm not -- it's -- I don't really want to get into it.”

“Okay,” Steve says, throat working, deflating a little as he realizes that-- that maybe this is how they work.

Billy knows almost everything about Steve. And Steve knows almost nothing about Billy.

He feels that soft, fragile thing in him wilt just a little.

“Um. You want any food?”

“Nah,” Billy says. “I'm good.”

His eyes aren't on Steve. They're on the woods, on the dark treeline.

He stubs the butt of his cigarette out and tosses it into the grass. Then, he lights up another.

“You think they'll stop building?” Billy asks, after a long breath of silence between the two of them.

“I dunno,” Steve shrugs, wrapping his arms around himself. “Maybe. Hopefully.”

“They could keep going. Burn the whole forest down and be done with it,” Billy says, through clenched teeth.

Steve hums. “They could. But they won't.”

“And how do you know that?”

“We're destructive, not evil.” Steve says. “Humans, I mean. There's always someone trying to save the rainforest or whatever. People care too much.”

“They stop caring if profits get in the way.”

“Some of them,” Steve says. “Not all of them.”

“Yeah, but that still doesn't stop someone like Brenner from doing it anyway. He could cut down the whole forest and pay off the people who’d punish him for it.”

“ _Billy_ ,” Steve says, firm enough that Billy finally looks at him again, and Steve doesn't know how to sooth that look away from his face. “Hop won't let that happen. Okay?”

“It could happen anyway,” Billy says.

Like he's more concerned about the trees than the people dying amongst them.

“But it _won't_ ,” Steve insists, jaw flexing. “Hop won't let it. And if I need to throw around my family name to help, I will. If it'll make you feel better.”

“Alright,” Billy says. He drags his toes through the water, going quiet.

“Alright,” Steve says, and he feels frustrated. Agitated.

“What?” Billy asks. When Steve looks at him, Billy's eyes are on him, looking curious, concerned.

“Nothing,” Steve says. “It's just a, uh… me problem. Don't worry about it.”

Billy frowns. “What is it?”

“It's _nothing_ ,” Steve says, shrugging. “Don't worry about it.”

The frown on Billy’s face deepens, the lines on his face going dark.

“I want to help with your problems,” Billy says. “Even if they’re just _you_ problems.”

“I know,” Steve says. “But-- but I’m trying to help _you_ this time.”

“I don’t need help,” Billy says, face twisting up in confusion.

Steve huffs out a long breath. “I _know_.”

“Are you --” Billy starts, and then stops, twisting so that he’s looking at Steve, pulling his legs up and underneath them, toes still dripping water from the pool. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, feeling disgruntled, restless, _useless_. “It’s just… It feels a little-- _funky_. Out of balance. Like, I’m always using you as a crutch so… you don’t lean on me back.”

And Billy’s always going _on and on_ about balance. It kind of _sucks_ that he doesn’t exactly practice what he preaches.

He frowns.

“I don’t need to lean on you. It’s not that I don’t want to. I just -- don’t need to, right now.”

“But you will later?” Steve asks.

“Yes,” Billy says. “When I need to, I will. I promise.”

“Okay,” Steve says, nodding a little hesitantly. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that.”

“Do,” Billy says. “Please do.”

Steve nods again. He wraps his good arm over his chest and shivers a little.

“You gonna stay out here a while?”

“Yeah,” Billy breathes. “Unless you want me inside?”

“No, just keeping track of everybody.”

“I promise I’m safe,” Billy says. “I promise you're all safe.”

Steve offers up a tight smile. “I know. Thank you.”

“It'll be okay,” Billy says.

And Steve wonders just who he's trying to convince.

~*~

It’s two am when Steve wakes up.

Or maybe -- doesn’t quite wake up at all.

He doesn’t think he’s actually slept much, just tossed and turned in bed next to Billy for hours before giving up. He doesn’t _remember_ sleeping, but he does remember closing his eyes and seeing the woods, the trees, and the bodies in them, before opening his eyes to stare into the darkness of his room. It’s not _good_ , staring out into the shadows creeping slowly across his walls and ceiling -- but it’s preferable to the alternative.

To the horrors that greet him when he lets his eyes close.

Next to him, Steve can hear Billy breathing, steady and quiet. Slow, like he’s deep in a peaceful sleep. How he’s doing it, after what they saw in the papers? Steve’s got no idea. But he is.

Maybe Tommy was wrong. Maybe Billy’s not scared at all. Maybe he’s true to his word that he’s _fine_ , somehow. Despite the fact that he can’t be, he _shouldn’t_ be.

There’s no reason anyone in Hawkins should feel _fine_ right now.

The room is so dark.

Outside Steve’s window, the woods loom heavily. He can almost _feel_ them, pressing in, towering over his house, even though he knows they don’t. Not quite.

That doesn’t stop the creeping feeling of dread, though. The fear that they’re encroaching, that the vines that twisted those people into the trees and rotted them through are twisting their way right to Steve’s house. Under the ground, tunneling closer and closer as everyone sleeps.

“ _Billy_?” Steve says, voice barely above a whisper.

Billy doesn’t stir.

Dead to the world.

Carefully, Steve slides out from underneath the blankets and pushes his feet into the slippers sitting next to the bed. He grabs a sweatshirt and slips it over his head, trying to beat back the chill of the darkness, the cold that comes from lack of sleep.

His house is full of people and Billy’s sleeping soundly, so Steve is careful to tread lightly, to close the door behind him softly, the latch barely even clicking in the silence of the house.

Nancy and Jonathan are in the guest room. Tommy and Carol, in the master bedroom. The kids are curled up in the den, cozy in sleeping bags and quiet, despite everything. Perhaps the comfort of all those bodies, all that humanity around them, helps.

Not that it’s really helping Steve, much.

Steve stands for a moment, just looking at the kids in the den before pulling the door shut, closing them in, keeping them safe.

The light in the kitchen is on, so Steve pads toward it.

He’s not surprised to see what can only be Hopper’s work spread out on the kitchen table. Stacks of police files and pictures and folders, all a jumble.

The screen door is loud when Steve slides it open, following Hopper out to where he’s smoking on the back deck. Hopper doesn't look, but he does hold out his pack.

He knows Steve a little too well.

“This hypervigilance is gonna kill you,” he says.

Steve grunts and draws a cigarette from the pack, letting Hopper light it for him. “Better than that thing in the woods.”

Hopper is quiet for a moment. All Steve can hear are the crickets, the rustle of leaves in the trees.

“You know, I think I’d rather this be the work of some monster,” Hopper finally says.

“Really?” Steve asks, dragging slow, coughing a little and wrinkling up his nose. “These are awful, Hop.”

“You smoke for long enough, you learn not to be picky,” Hop says. He breathes out, smoke curling into the cold air. “And yeah. Beats the alternative.”

He doesn’t sound too convinced, though.

“A literal _monster_ beats a human,” Steve says, nods, and clears his throat. “Okay. Where's the monster hiding, then?”

Hopper snorts. “I didn’t say it _was_ a monster. I said I’d rather it be one.” Another drag. “Where else would it be, other than in the woods?”

Steve stares out at the woods. He shudders and drags hard. Lets the smoke burn his tongue and mouth.

“Then why aren't we hunting it?”

“Because it’s not _real_ , Harrington. Because people are capable of atrocities, too.” Hop drops his cigarette and stomps it out underneath his foot, grinding it into the wood of the deck, smearing ash beneath his feet. “It would be nice, for it to be a monster. But monsters don’t exist.”

“I dunno,” Steve admits, and it's the fatigue and the fear and Billy's promises that he has no way of keeping. “The kids have some pretty wild theories. And I'm starting to believe them.”

“What you saw in the woods,” Hop says, and Steve _knows_ where it’s going, into some lecture about denial and monsters and fact versus fiction -- but maybe Hopper hears the weariness in Steve’s sigh, so he stops, chewing on his words for a minute before continuing. “Tell me what you saw in the woods, then.”

“I don't know what it was,” Steve says. “But-- it was big. Tall. Really tall. And… dark. Like shadows, but solid. Towering and twisted and… watching. Like, I saw it and it saw me and I knew it was _hungry_.”

Steve wets his lips. He's shaking a little, remembering claws and teeth and antlers like horns arching toward the sky.

“And-- and it looked human but-- but _garish_ and not human at all.” Steve says, looking down at his feet. “There's more, but… but it's crazy.”

“It’s two in the morning and there are people dying in impossible ways,” Hopper says. “Tell me the crazy.”

Steve swallows thick. Drags on his cigarette to calm his nerves.

“It had, like, _antlers_. The first time I saw it, it has these antlers that grew toward the sky.” Steve says. “And the second time… it had claws and teeth. And it felt _cold_. So damn _cold_.”

Steve tries not to look out to the woods, afraid of seeing it there.

But also -- knowing he wont. Somehow.

 _Somehow_ , he knows that this treeline is safe.

Maybe just because Billy sounded so sure.

“So you really think its a monster,” Hop says.

Steve swallows. “I've been having dreams. Seeing the bodies _before_ they show up. I don't know _what_ I believe anymore.”

For a long moment, Hopper’s quiet.

“You shouldn’t tell me shit like that,” he finally says. “I don’t want to have to bring you in, Harrington.”

Though they both know he won’t.

Steve clears his throat again. “The only one I didn't see was that half rotten one, the one you showed me, the one that died while I was out there in the woods. And I think it was because I _was_ out there. Like-- like I distracted it somehow. Because it was watching me the next morning. And I think it was watching me all night.”

Hopper breathes out something like a laugh. “If _that’s_ not terrifying,” he says.

Steve knows the feeling.

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, too. “Tell me about it. Billy thinks whoever or whatever it is is only after the lab people. Pays credence to the idea it's sone monster they cooked up on the old place.”

“Your friend keeping a close eye on who this person or thing is after?” Hop asks.

Steve shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe? That's what he said, earlier, when I was freaking out about it.”

Hopper just hums.

“You two real close?”

“Uh,” Steve glances up. “Yeah. We're um… dating. And I was just… panicking about Barb. He said it wasn't after normal people.”

“What about Barb?” Hop asks. “He think she’s not connected to all this?”

“I don't know,” Steve says. “I think he was just trying to make me feel better.”

“What’s your opinion?” Hop asks, lighting up another cigarette. “Serial killer who’s targeting people in the woods, or a monster? Barb -- a coincidence, or part of it all, too?”

“Neither option makes me sleep better,” Steve says. “But… my gut says monster. And I _hope_ \-- god, I hope Barb was an accident.”

Hopper sighs. When Steve looks at him, his eyes are on the woods. “I think she was. That doesn’t exactly _help_ us solve anything, doesn’t get us closer to finding the culprit, but I think she was.”

“You think Billy's right? That it's only targeting the people working on the lab?”

“I know he’s right,” Hop says, carefully. “But I think I’d like to talk to him about how easily he connected those dots.”

Steve frowns, something about Hopper's tone making him pause as he watches the butt of his cigarette burn. “What are you saying, Chief?”

“The news hasn’t exactly shouted the connection between all the killings. It’s _there_ , if you read the articles, but generally they’ve just been touting the importance of staying out of the woods. Crimes of opportunity kind of thing. I’m just saying he must be _real interested_.”

Steve swallows. “I guess he's just worried. Who wouldn't be?”

But Steve knows Billy's sleeping soundly upstairs. Steve knows Billy's more worried about the _trees_ than the fucking _people dying_.

Something cold settles on his gut.

“Was just a thought,” Hopper says with a shrug. “Think I’d like to have a chat with him tomorrow, though. Think you could make that happen for me?”

Steve glances up sharp. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I'll talk to him. You sticking around much longer?”

“Yeah,” Hop says. “I’m sticking around.”

“Okay,” Steve says, flicking the end of his cigarette to the pavement and stamping it out with the toe of a sneaker. “I'm gonna head back in. You should get some rest, Hop.”

Inside, nothing has changed. The kitchen light is still on, the kids are still in the den, and all of the bedroom doors are closed -- their occupants safe and sound.

And yet, Steve still feels unmoored, anxious.

He feels _freezing_.

Part of him wants to go crawl back into bed with Billy. The other part thinks that idea makes his skin crawl.

He ends up in the kitchen, making coffee. He stands there, good arm crossed over his chest, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He watches the coffee drip instead of thinking about why he's shivering so bad.

He's not alone for very long.

Dustin pads in, yawning and rubbing at his face, curls everywhere. He's got a zipper impression from his sleeping bag on his cheek.

“Did you sleep at _all_?” Dustin asks, voice heavy with sleep.

Steve hums. “A bit.”

“Says the guy who looks like he’d do anything to inject that coffee straight into the vein.” He slides into his favorite seat at the counter, stool scraping slightly against the floor.

“I said a bit,” Steve says, glancing over at him, mouth quirking. “Not a lot.”

“When’s the coffee done?” Dustin asks, like he’s ready for a cup himself.

Hell, he might be.

“Just another minute,” Steve says.

And for a while, they sit there in quiet. As the coffee maker burbles to a finish.

He pours two cups and then sets one down in front of Dustin. He hates himself a little for the idea buzzing in the back of his head.

“What kind of experiments did they do at that old lab?” he asks, leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee black, letting it burn his tongue. “I mean, you know all the conspiracy theories. Anything that can do what's going on?”

“Donno,” Dustin says. “Rumor has it they were creating monsters. Things to win wars, you know?”

“ _Wars?”_ Steve asks, skeptical.

Dustin just shrugs. “Something about _rotten commie bastards_.”

“Ah,” Steve nods. “Cold War. And you think they actually did it? Think something's out there in the old labs?”

“I mean, it’s better than the dumb theory that _someone_ did this. People can’t do that kind of shit, Steve. You’ve seen the pictures. You know that.”

Steve's jaw flexes and he nods, something unclenching in his chest as he finally lets himself think about Billy, upstairs, in his bed.

“No. Nothing human.” Steve agrees, eyeing Dustin and sipping his coffee. “You think it's hiding in the old labs, too?”

“There’s a _ton_ of abandoned buildings out there in the woods. Old parts of the lab campus, all kinds of places something inhuman could hide.” Dustin coughs. “Not that I’ve _been_ there, or anything.”

Steve thinks of all the places Billy’s mentioned. The crumbling remnants of the lab’s glory days. The crumpled mirror-image of what they’re trying to resurrect now, right smack in the middle of the woods.

“No, of course you haven't.” Steve says, almost idle. “Which is definitely why I wouldn't ask you to show me around.”

“No,” Dustin says, slowly. “That would be _crazy_.”

“Totally insane,” Steve nods. “Especially if there’s a bloodthirsty monster, hiding in the old labs.”

“But there’s not,” Dustin says, taking a careful sip of his coffee, making a face after he does it. “Because _monsters don’t exist._ ”

“Right,” Steve says. “So, there's no point in even going and checking it out. Just to be sure.”

“Definitely not. That would be irresponsible. And reckless.”

“Hop would kill us,” Steve adds.

“Yeah, but. Only if he found out.”

Steve finally meets Dustin's gaze again. Finds it curious and locked onto him.

“Only if he found out,” Steve agrees. “I'm gonna run to the store in about an hour. You wanna come with?”

“Yeah,” Dustin says. “I want to get some snacks.”

“Okay,” Steve says, downing the rest of his coffee. “See you in an hour. I'm gonna take a shower.”

And then he's gone, skin prickling, plan simmering at the back of his skull.

-*-

Billy’s awake when Steve gets back to the room.

His eyes are still blurry with sleep, not quite focusing on Steve, but awake enough that he doesn’t look like he’s about to fall asleep again.

“Where’d you go?” Billy asks.

He looks warm and cozy, all wrapped up in Steve’s blankets.

“Just checking on everyone,” Steve tells him, toweling off his hair, avoiding Billy's gaze as he digs around in his dresser. “I've gotta run to the store.”

“You want company?” Billy asks, shuffling himself up until he’s sitting in the bed.

“No,” Steve says, and it's probably a little too quick, so he softens it by walking over to the bed and kissing Billy's cheek after he struggles into his shirt, cast catching in the sleeve. “It's just gonna be me and a couple of the kids. I'd feel better with you here watching the rest of them. Besides, Hopper wanted to talk with you.”

“Oh?” Billy asks, but he doesn’t sound worried. He just busies himself with helping straighten out Steve’s shirt with careful hands. “What about?”

“Just wanted to hear your ideas about motive or whatever. I mentioned what you told me. Sometimes he does that, talks to people about cases-- it helps him work stuff out.”

Billy just shrugs. “Alright. Don’t think I’ll be able to help much, but I’ll be around.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “I'll, uh… I mean, it's probably still armageddon at the grocery store, so I'll probably be a while.”

Billy nods, fingers brushing over the cotton of Steve’s shirt, pulling at it just slightly. “You alright?”

“Just a little tired,” Steve says, kissing his cheek again, sighing at how _warm_ he is-- at how much his body _aches_ to crawl back into bed. “Okay, _really_ tired. But I'll be fine. I've taken finals with less sleep.”

“Be careful,” Billy says, looking worried, looking fond. “Driving’s dangerous when you’re tired.”

“I will,” Steve promises, even as he lies through his teeth. “What's the worst that could happen?”

-*-

Steve knows this is stupid. Knows it's dangerous. Even if there isn't a monster and it's just a man, it's stupid.

But he has to. He needs to see it-- or not see it-- he needs _proof_.

He needs that sick feeling that's been in his gut all morning since talking to Hopper to go away.

Still, dread settles like a quiet, old friend into his gut the second he steps out of his car at the edge of the dirt road Dustin told him to drive down. Lucas and Dustin pile after him, flanking him, and Steve breathes deep.

It smells cold, like coming snow, and he grips the bat in his hand a little tighter as they shuffle toward the overgrown fence line.

The second he steps out, off the path and into the brush, everything goes quiet. Like the forest itself is _listening_.

Through the chain link fence, Steve spots the old square building that remains. An old, dilapidated relic, with vines grown all along the brick. The windows are shattered and empty. Like the rotten, dark face of a corpse staring right back at them.

“This the place?” Steve asks.

“Uh, do you have _eyes_?” Lucas asks.

“This way,” Dustin says.

They follow along the fence until they come upon a part of it that’s torn up, clawed open.

“Did you do this or find this?” Steve asks.

“Found it.”

Steve’s not really sure that makes him feel _better_ about this. But, then again, high school kids have probably been coming here to drink and get up to all sorts of shenanigans for _years_.

Steve hums and peels the fence back.

“Okay, let's go. We don't have all day.”

“We kinda _do_ ,” Dustin says, but he goes without arguing. Lucas follows. Steve lets the fence fall closed once he squeezes his way through.

The only thing _comforting_ about it is that the monster Steve saw? Was _way_ too large to make a hole this small. Hell, he’s pretty sure that thing wouldn’t have a problem clearing this _fence_ if it felt like it.

He follows after the kids closer to the building and can't help but look up. The building towers in an old, groaning way as Lucas pries open the doors with a crowbar from Steve's trunk.

Steve clutches at his baseball bat, too. It dangles at his side, held loose in his hand -- just in case.

Inside isn't much better than outside.

“Are we looking for anything in particular?” Steve asks.

The windows are almost all broken, mid-morning light creeping into the rooms alongside vines, leaves, dirt. Nature, reclaiming her land.

Dustin shrugs, pushing past a string of vines. “You wanted to go monster hunting.”

“I just wanted to make sure there was nothing out here.” Steve huffs.

“Are...we hoping to find something?” Lucas asks. “That seems pretty dumb.”

“No. Just making sure.” Steve says, but it's a lie. “Where are we headed?”

“Most of the above-ground stuff was all admin. Below-ground is where things get interesting,” Dustin says. “Not...that we’ve spent that much time in here.”

Steve lets out a dry laugh. “You're a god awful liar. Lead the way.”

Dustin, ever prepared, pulls out two flashlights from his pack and hands one to Steve. Lucas pulls out another.

Then, the kids lead the way to the stairwell of the building, where the tiles are cracking and vines twist along the railings. The stairs wind up, into the light -- so, of course, they follow them down, into the darkness.

It's colder. The lower they get, it's _colder._

After a while, Steve can see his _breath_. He shudders and thinks about that icy thing pressing to his skin.

He tries to focus on navigating the broken stairs. On following after Dustin and Lucas. On long shadows and a staircase that groans under them as it winds down and down and _down_.

“Jesus, how far does this thing _go_?” Steve asks.

“Really, _really_ far down,” Lucas says.

A half hysteric laugh of a thing bubbles up in Steve's throat and he slips on something grimy, oily, jerking upright only with a hand on the broken banister. “ _Jesus_. You guys ever go all the way?”

“No,” Dustin says, going a little quiet.

“There were _noises_ ,” Lucas says.

“Okay,” Steve nods, throat working. “Well. Today we go all the way down. Or try. If you get spooked or we see something, you two take off. Am I clear?”

“And, what, leave you here?” Dustin says.

“To get help,” Steve says. “Yes.”

“No way,” Lucas says. “Your bat? Not going to get you very far against monsters _or_ people.”

“Then you know it won't hold anything off for long if we find something,” Steve says. “So you'll have to run fast.”

“Okay, so we’re just not leaving you down here,” Lucas says.

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees. “Don’t be dumb, Steve.”

“You probably won't even _have_ to,” Steve says. “But if I say run, you better fucking run. Okay?”

“Uh huh,” Dustin says, rounding the corner to another level. “Okay.”

He doesn’t sound serious, but if push comes to shove, Steve’ll make him. They won’t get a _choice_.

It takes them three more levels until they run out of them. The door at the bottom is thick, metal, and completely ajar-- hanging off its hinges.

Beyond it is darkness.

“So, uh,” Dustin says. “After you?”

He gestures at the Steve and at the door.

Steve snorts, brushing by, and he carefully pushes the door until there is enough space for each of them to get by. It groans, like everything else in this place, totally rusted.

When he's through, he squints forward, shining the light in front of him. It's a hallway, tile floor caked in mud, like it's welling up from the cracks. Like the earth is trying to take the building back.

“So,” Steve says, light darting between their options, and his voice is so _loud_ in his ears down here. “Door number one, or door number two?”

“First is the worst,” Dustin whispers.

“Let’s get this over with,” Lucas says.

They both still wait for Steve to make a move for the door.

Steve shakes out his shoulders, shuffling forward. He tries for the door-- and curses when the handle doesn't move.

“Locked,” he says.

“Kick it,” Lucas says. “Maybe it’s just rusted shut.”

“Nah,” Steve huffs, propping his bat against the doorjamb. “Gimme the crowbar.”

The metal is cold when it hits Steve’s palm. He hands over the bat to Dustin, who hefts it over his shoulder like he’s going to _protect_ them while Steve wedges the crowbar in and _heaves_.

It takes a few tries. The door is really stuck and Steve's not exactly at best shape.

But eventually, there's a _crack_ of sound. Of something splintering and then shaking apart.

Steve doesn't pull back fast enough. Goes toppling in, Dustin and Lucas shouting behind him as he hits the wet ground. It jars him, but it doesn't hurt.

“I'm okay,” Steve says, squinting into the dark room, aiming his flashlight around. “I'm fine--”

He nearly chokes on his words when he spots the body, scrambling, and that makes the boys panic too.

“What is it?” Dustin screeches.

Lucas smacks him with a flailing hand. “What the fuck _is that thing?”_

Steve points his light at it, catching a dull glow from its eyes, and then sighs.

In a cage, there's a fox. Or something that used to be a fox. It's fur is gone in patches, blood everywhere else, it's jaw left pried open against the gate of its cage like it died trying to get out.

“Just a dead animal,” Steve says, bile in his throat, the _stench_ of the room finally making itself known.

He covers his face with the crook of his elbow, trying to breathe in through the the fabric.

“That fox had _way_ more teeth than normal,” Dustin says, after he inches closer to it, voice muffled from behind his hand.

Steve frowns, carefully pushing to his feet with Lucas’ hand on his elbow. “What do you mean?”

“ _Look_ ,” Dustin says, and then grunts, when Steve doesn’t come close enough. Like he wants to get any closer to that _smell_ , jesus. “Come _here_ Steve. It’s easier if you just _look_.”

When Steve edges closer, breath held carefully, it comes into focus.

It’s hard to see at first, his brain trying to make sense of the mess of decay and bone in front of him. And okay, Steve doesn’t _know_ how many teeth foxes have, just like how he doesn’t know how many teeth people have -- but he knows they don’t have two rows of them. Knows that a count above _fifty_ is...well, it’s _too many_.

“What the fuck?” Steve frowns, crouching to get a closer look.

Something in the carcass moves. It shifts and wriggles, like something is crawling through it.

They all jump back.

The movement stops.

“It’s...a worm,” Lucas says, shifting closer. “Or like, a leech, maybe.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Steve says, a little hysteric. “You know it's not.”

“Okay, Mr. _Scientist_ , what is it, then?”

“I don't fucking know,” Steve hisses, jumping as it starts to move again, like it's-- _breathing._ “ _Fuck_.”

“There’s other animals, too. But they’re _way_ more decomposed,” Lucas says.

Steve grunts. He skims his light over a few of the other kennels.

Lucas is right. This one seems to be the only one not totally rotten.

Steve hates to think of _why_.

“We should move on,” Steve says.

“I wanna find a container,” Dustin says.

“For _what?”_ Lucas says.

“The leech,” Dustin replies. “It could be a new species. This could be an important scientific discovery.”

“Are you _crazy?”_ Steve smacks at him.

“This is _science!_ ” Dustin says, smacking back. His voice echoes around the room, tinny and hollow-sounding.

“This is a horror show,” Steve says, lowering his voice. “What do you wanna do, dissect that thing?”

“Uh, _no_?” Dustin says. “I want to have a new species named after me.”

“If it’s some new species the lab cooked up,” Lucas says, “I doubt they’ll let you _name_ it. Their goons’ll probably find you before you can even bring it in anywhere.”

“No,” Steve sighs, gesturing to the cage and the animal whose stomach is moving inside. “I _mean_ how are you gonna get the worm or whatever _out_?”

Absurdly, terrifyingly, as if on cue, the fox's stomach bulges out with a violent, wet _thud_. With a sick tearing sound.

The boys and Steve jump back as the bulge recedes, only to expand again, further.

“What the fuck,” Steve hisses.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Lucas says.

“I second that,” Steve says. “ _So hard_.”

Dustin sputters. “But--”

The sound of flesh ripping cuts him off. Steve tugs Dustin back by the scruff of his shirt.

“Fuck this chest burster shit--” Lucas yelps as something shoots out, something whipping, like vines come to life, thrashing and weeping _red_.

“Okay, we're going. Move it!” Steve says as a sick chattering fills the air, the fox's body convulsing, the cage rattling.

Steve doesn’t even remember leaving the room, doesn’t remember anything other than the sound of feet scrambling against crumbling tile and dirt. He yanks the door shut behind him and hopes it’s enough.

“First is the worst,” Dustin breathes, panting next to him, pressed against the opposite wall.

Steve grunts. “I _really_ hope you're right.”

“You still want to go into the second room? Are you crazy?” Lucas says.

“Decomposed foxes with weird chest bursting bugs don't exactly make _proof_ , Lucas.” Steve says, pushing off the door and heading for the next one just a little down the corridor.

“Do you even know what he’s _looking_ for?” Steve hears Lucas whisper at Dustin behind him.

But the kids follow anyway, despite everything. Hell, when it comes down to it, they’re probably braver than Steve -- maybe, because they don’t _know_ any better. Sure, they’ve seen the pictures in the paper -- but they haven’t seen the bodies like Steve has, in his dreams. They don’t _know_. Not really.

Steve tries to put it behind him. Tries not to think about why his hand is shaking when he tries the next door.

It opens easily. Inside, file cabinets like the room. There's scorch marks and papers everywhere. Like they'd tried to burn the evidence and had to run halfway through.

“This looks interesting,” Steve says, shrugging.

“Translation: this looks like there’s no horrific mutant creatures,” Lucas mumbles.

He's not _wrong._

Steve steps in, tries for the light switch, but there's no power. Not even a flicker.

“Okay,” he says. “Let's look around. Grab anything you think looks promising.”

Dustin and Lucas stuff their backpacks full of files. Anything they can get their hands on. Steve’s a little more discerning about it. He finds a drawer that’s closed up tight -- pulls and yanks until it gives, rusted metal lock falling apart with just enough force applied.

Inside, it looks like patient files.

 _Human_ patient files.

Something in him turns over. His throat clenches tight and he flips open the first one he sees. Squints at it, at the picture paper clipped there, of a woman not much older than him. Skims through big words like _synthetic_ and _lysergic acid diethylamide_ and _hallucinogenic drug_ and _electrotherapy_ all in the name of _weaponizing case study 23A_.

Steve wants to vomit. He's not sure if case _23A_ is the number of _people_ they'd wired into an electric chair while high on LSD or the number of _times_ they did it.

He's not sure which is worse.

He flips to the next file.

This one is a kid. No older than thirteen, maybe.

He closes that one before he can even read the details. Someone else will, he vows. He’ll get this information to _someone_ , so it doesn’t sit and rot here while the people who _did this_ build a bigger, better campus for themselves.

“Put these in your bag,” Steve says, grabbing another stack of the files, thrusting them at Dustin. “You guys see anything about monsters?”

“Nothing,” Dustin says.

Lucas clears his throat and holds something out. He looks ashen.

Steve takes it. On the cover, it reads: _Lab 11_.

He opens it and finds mostly blacked out documents. It makes the words stand out easier. _Beast_ and _breakthrough_ and _revitalization of decomposed tissue_.

_Reanimation._

The pictures help, too. Different limbs of different animals, stitched together into crude monsters. Skinned and hooked up to tubes and chemicals and tanks.

All of this building up, size and bulk, until Steve recognizes half of a face. A face with green eyes and freckles and brown hair stapled to the toothy sneer of something not mamillion and it's _the kid_ \-- oh, _god,_ it's the _kid--_

Steve gags. He drops the file and turns away, hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking.

“Where--?” he croaks, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Where's lab eleven?”

“It’s gotta be down here,” Dustin says. “All the labs upstairs have, like, person names.”

Probably for rich donors, Steve thinks.

Keep the sketchy shit downstairs.

They leave the records room and continue down the winding hallway, through the darkness. Mud squelches underneath their feet. There are occasional crunching sounds as they step, and Steve tries not to think about what’s there, hiding underneath the dirt, between their feet and the tiles.

For a long time, there are no other doors.

Just an endless hallway.

But once it turns, once they round another corner, there are _rows_ of doors.

Each labeled with a plastic plate. Each numbered.

“Jesus,” Steve says, stomach clenching tight, cold all over. “ _Jesus christ_. We should-- we need to get Hopper down here.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Lucas says, peering into lab #2, the door of which is hanging open, inviting.

Inside, the room is bare, save for dirt encroaching through the doorway. On the far side, the floor is clear. Like nature hasn’t quite made it there, yet. Maybe they scrubbed the lab down too clean.

Lab #1, directly across the hall, is locked. There’s a thick, clear plastic window in the door, though, and Dustin has his face pressed against it, light shining in from the top -- trying to see inside.

“Anything?” Steve asks, but he's already moving, already hunting for lab #11.

“Nada,” Dustin says. Steve can hear the footsteps of Dustin and Lucas following behind him, loud in the silence of the basement.

Steve sticks to the left side of the hall, to the odd numbers. They pass _#3, #5,_ and Steve walks quicker, taking longer strides, until he’s walking past the open door of #9 and standing at the doorway to lab #11.

The door is ajar.

Steve stops right in front of it. He takes one breath, then another. His fingers flex over his flashlight.

Carefully, as quietly as he can, Steve opens the door. Pushes until it groans on its hinges and shines his light inward.

It's empty. There's a slab of metal at the center, turned over and covered in something brown-- something red-- something _pitch black_. The smell is awful. Some mix of antiseptic and rot. Tubing and wiring torn and scattered. Rubble all around.

Steve's shoulders slump. “There's nothing. It's gone.”

The bellowing screech, inhuman and _grating_ , that follows _shakes_ him to the core.

It comes from further down the hallway, accompanied by a skittering. A scrambling.

Steve hears Dustin let out a scream and looks. Looks down, where he's shining his light, and sees it.

Dripping a slick, viscous _black_ from its mouth. Half human, or what was once human, and half canine. Fangs yellowed and too many. Something like antlers hanging its head heavy.

Arms stretched out in front of it, stitched together from scraps, rotting and sluicing off its exposed bone. Legs bent at a terrible angle, knees backward, until Steve realized its back feet are _hooves_.

Like the devil incarnate.

But the eyes-- or one of them-- is glassy and green and bloodshot. A little boy's eye, starting blindly and frighteningly, right back at them.

It _snarls_.

Steve doesn't even breathe.

“Run.”

~*~


	7. i can feel it in my bones

-*-

Steve’s never climbed stairs so fast in his _life_.

He keeps Lucas and Dustin in front of him, keeps his body between the kids and the _monster_ they found in the basement.

Nothing’s a better motivator for booking it than the sight of those teeth, the sound of that inhuman snarl.

They’re about ten flights up before Steve stumbles, before he stops.

One flight up from him, Lucas and Dustin stop, too. And scream at him to _keep running_.

“Shut up,” Steve says, ears straining into the darkness below him.

He doesn’t hear anything. Nothing following them up.

Panting, Steve stands there and listens. Hears a soft wailing from deep, deep down.

“I don't think it can climb up,” Steve wheezes.

“What do you mean?” Lucas says.

“Did you see its limbs?” Steve says. “They were practically rotting apart.”

Still there's another awful wailing. A _screaming_.

Steve shudders. “Let's go. Let's go get Hop.”

-*-

They don’t have to go very far.

There’s a familiar police cruiser pulled up in front of the building, tires dirty from the mud in the parking lot.

It’s Hop.

And Billy.

“Ah, shit,” Steve hisses, under his breath, when he catches sight of them.

Feels dread coil when he spots their _faces_.

“Harrington,” Hopper says, hand on his hip where he keeps his gun holstered.

Steve's sweaty and dirty and he feels the cold like a slap to his face. “Chief,” he says.

Dustin rushes him. “Oh, my god, Hopper, you'll never _believe_ what's down there--”

Steve loses track of what he’s saying, because Billy’s walking up to him, face worried, stride purposeful.

“You said you were going to the _store_.” But he doesn’t sound mad. “Are you okay?”

Steve frowns, because he was expecting anger, maybe, or irritation. “I'm okay.”

“You’re covered in dirt. You smell like --” Billy makes a face. “Antiseptic and rot.”

“There's--” Steve falters. “Um, I'm fine, there's just--”

“-- a monster, Hop!” Dustin yells, hands everywhere.

Steve flinches. Because it was a monster. But he doesn't very comfortable _calling_ it that.

Because, despite everything, Steve knows that it was a human once, too. A kid. Just a little younger than Dustin and Lucas.

Billy’s brow furrows. “Monsters aren’t --”

“You weren’t _down there_ ,” Lucas says quick. “You didn’t _see it_.”

But the kids did. _Steve_ did. Saw who they were before they became whatever shambling remains were left. Whatever grotesque caricature of Frankenstein's monster they created down in that twisted playground of experimentation.

Steve steps back, bends over, and pukes his guts out.

It's not much. Only coffee.

It still burns his throat.

Billy’s there, crouching next to him, hand rubbing at Steve’s back, even though he’s covered in god knows what.

“It’s okay,” Billy says, but he doesn’t sound sure. Not like he _always_ does.

It’s kind of strange, to hear him so doubtful.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps, throat raw. “ _Fuck_. Show them. The file, Dustin.”

It’s in Hopper’s hand before Steve can even realize it, Dustin and Lucas having torn through all the papers to try and find the right one. Billy stays with Steve for a moment, just rubbing his back -- but eventually, curiosity must get the better of him, because when Hopper curses, Billy goes over to peer at the file over Hop’s shoulder.

Billy curses then, too. Low and slow. Disgusted.

There are more pictures in the file, things Steve didn’t look at. Things he didn’t need to, because he saw the real thing.

Steve straightens out after a moment, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.

“It's down there,” Steve says, voice rough and maybe a little wet. “They-- they _did that_ to someone. It's still down there.”

Without even a single word of acknowledgement, Billy’s walking toward the building.

“Hargrove!” Hop shouts, but Billy doesn’t listen.

His strides are long and angry and fast.

“Shit,” Hop curses, and follows after him.

“You can’t go in there!” Lucas shouts, trailing after them. “There’s a _monster_.”

“Like an _actual_ _monster!”_ Dustin shouts.

Steve stumbles, chases after him, heart in his throat, reaching out and catching his arm. “Billy, _don't_ \--”

“There’s something in there,” he says, not stopping. Steve has to jog to keep up, to try and get in front of him. “Something that shouldn’t exist.”

“You’re not going into that building, Hargrove,” Hopper says.

Steve gets the funny feeling Billy’s not going to listen to him, either.

“Billy, it was a person,” Steve says, pulling, throat tight like he might cry. “It was a _person_ \-- a _kid_. They didn't-- it's not their _fault_.”

“That lab’s been abandoned for over a decade. _Nothing_ should be alive in there.” Billy bites out, powering forward. “No one,” he amends, like he’s _humoring_ Steve.

“How does he _know_ that?” Lucas hisses, from somewhere behind Steve. “Where is this guy even _from_?”

“Well, it _is!”_ Steve yells, rounding him and shoving at his chest. “Stop, okay? Just _stop.”_

Billy stops.

“You don’t have to come with me,” he says. “But I’m going inside.”

Steve stares at him, at the tight lines of his face, at the set of his jaw. Something resolute. Immovable.

Something profoundly _angry_.

“ _Why_?” Steve asks, hand on his chest.

“Because I have to see it,” Billy says.

“ _No one_ is going inside that building,” Hopper says, from behind Billy.

Steve stares Billy in the face and _knows_. Knows, one way or another, he's getting inside.

He shuffles closer, puts a shaking hand on his chest, offers up a weak smile. Keeps his voice _low_.

“Tonight,” he says, too quiet for Hopper to hear. “Just wait. Just wait, okay?”

“ _Now_ ,” Billy says. He pushes past Steve and heads towards the building again.

Steve stumbles back, loses balance, hits the concrete on his ass _hard_. Stares at Billy's back as he goes, eyes wide.

Hopper curses and jogs after him.

Steve thinks that even if Hopper pulled out a gun, Billy would probably still go inside. There’s a hardness to his eyes, a set to his posture that both say he’s not going to give this one up.

Dustin helps him up. “Should we -- go with them?”

“No,” Steve says, tone clipped.

He knows what they'll do down there. Knows that, even if the kids keep crying monster, they know that's not quite right. Knows what they'll see if they go.

“What do we do, then?”

Steve sighs, head hanging, still sitting there on the cracked concrete.

“We wait.”

-*-

When Billy and Hopper finally reemerge, they've both got blood on them. Black and red. Steve can smell the rot from where he's leaning against Hopper's truck.

His mouth is thin as Hopper jogs up to him. The boys are in the back, Dustin passed out on Lucas’ shoulder. Steve glances past Hop at Billy, at the black of his hands, dripping to the asphalt, and then back at Hopper.

“I'm gonna call it in,” Hopper says. “Shut ‘em down. Permanently. You got those files?”

“They're in one of the bags.”

Hopper grunts. “Good. And Steve-- we need to _talk_.”

“I know it was stupid to bring them out here--”

“About that, too. But--” Hopper wets his lips; there's blood on his chin and his cheek and his uniform, black like ink on paper, and he looks over at where Billy is stopped, head craned back to look at the building. “But I need to know: how _well_ do you know your boyfriend?”

Steve looks over at Billy, jaw tight, arms half crossed, and those unfathomable blue eyes meet his.

“Not well enough,” Steve says, under his breath, gaze still locked with Billy's.

Hopper nods. “I'll look into it. Where's your car?”

“Not far.”

“Go straight home. Wash up. Joyce made lunch.” Hopper pats his shoulder. “I'll take the boys. You want me to take him, too?”

“No,” Steve says. “I've got him.”

And then he's pulling away, marching toward where he's got his car parked on that gravel road off past the brush. He doesn't have to look to know Billy's following him.

Billy’s quiet as he gets into the car, quiet as he wipes his hands off on his jeans. Casually, like the blood means nothing to him.

Steve doesn't speak as he turns on the car. Doesn't speak as he shifts into drive and pulls down the dirt road.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Billy says, once they’re well and truly away from the lab, driving parallel to the forest.

Steve's jaw ticks tight. “I think if I have to _hear_ or _look_ at you, right now, I'll scream.”

Billy shuts up. After letting out a long breath.

Steve lets it drag until they're on the main roads.

“Are you happy, now?” Steve snaps. “Now that you saw it? Now that you _killed_ him?”

“Something like that shouldn’t be _alive_. It should never have _existed_. It’s a crime. Corrupting nature.”

Steve slams on the breaks. Skids them to a stop. Just like that night, so long ago when Billy goaded him into punching him.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Steve says. “It was a little boy. It was a little boy and they tortured him and patched him together with scraps from the forest. And he _didn't deserve_ you going down there and _slaughtering_ him.”

“He was _dying_ ,” Billy says. “It was inhumane to keep him there, to try to save him. There’s nothing that could have been done for him.”

“You don't _know_ that--!”

“I _do_ know that. He was dying, and we put him out of his misery. Hopper shot him. It was over fast.”

“Over _fast_ ,” Steve scoffs. “Over _fast_? He was down there, _rotting_ and _alone_ , for a _decade_. A _little boy_. And you couldn't, what, show a little compassion first? Wait to see if something could be done? _No_ , you had to go _storming in_ , right _now_ , like some self- righteous _prick_ \--”

“I _know,_ okay? Just _trust me_ \-- there wasn't anything that could have been done for him. He was barely even alive -- just neurons firing in a body that should have died years ago.”

Steve slams the gear into park, twists, and shoves at Billy. “And how the fuck do you know that, huh? _How_?”

“I just _do_ ,” Billy says. So sure of himself, so goddamn superior. “You have to trust me.”

Steve's never wanted to punch him more.

“And how am I supposed to trust you? I barely _know you_ ,” Steve says, sneers. “You're all bluff and charm. But you hardly ever give me a straight answer. You say _trust me_ , _believe me_ , but how can I do that, Billy? I barely know anything about you-- and I _definitely_ don't know the guy that was back there at that lab.”

In the dark of the still, quiet car, Billy just looks at him. Eyes wide, gaze steady. He looks, if anything, _sad_ , which Steve does his best to just _ignore_ , because Billy doesn't get to feel sad. He doesn't get to feel hurt.

“I'm always me. I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

Steve's face pinches up. “No. No, back there? Back there, you were _dark_. You were so angry you didn't even _see me_.”

“They experimented on a _person_ ,” Billy says. “Of course I was angry. I had to --” He bites it back, and swallows. Steve can hear his fingers flexing against his dirty jeans. “I had to see. I had to know what they did.”

“Why?” Steve asks, eyes not leaving his face, something tightening in him. “Why did you need to see what _they_ did, Billy?”

“Because they're the villains, Steve.”

“The villains,” Steve repeats, dull and quiet. “The kind of people who deserve to be strung up by their own entrails.”

Billy just rolls his eyes. “Bad people can have bad things happen to them. That doesn’t make them heroes, and it doesn’t make them worthy of pity. I’m not going to feel bad about what happened to them, and I’m _definitely_ not going to feel bad about it _now_.”

And Steve can't name what's in his chest. The yawning, aching pit of it.

“They're construction workers, Billy.” He says. “Builders. Not scientists.”

Billy falters. “The recent ones, they weren’t construction workers. They were managers, higher ups.”

“You sure about that?” Steve asks, eyes still on him, body still twisted to face him, shaking in his seat.

“Read the articles,” Billy says, determined. “They all knew what they were doing.”

Which was, _what_ , in the end? Cutting down some trees?

Steve doesn't think that's a good enough excuse. Not really.

“I don't remember that in the papers,” he says instead, like a challenge.

Like a gauntlet, thrown between them.

Billy’s eyes narrow in the dim light of the afternoon. They’re illuminated by the glow from the dash -- inhuman and a little strange.

“Yeah?” Billy says. “Tell me what you wanna hear, Steve. What do you want me to say? Because clearly you’ve got something in mind.”

Steve does. But he's a chicken. He doesn't want to hear it. Not really.

His throat works and he leans back. Leans away. His heart lurching in his chest.

Billy frowns. For a moment, Steve thinks he’s going to press forward, to take the ground Steve’s given. To egg him on, to demand Steve tell him. It’s in the air, electric.

“Go home, Steve,” Billy finally says.

Steve watches him thumb the lock on the car door and press the door open, letting in the chill.

They’re still in the middle of the woods.

Steve's heart lodges itself in his throat. He reaches out before he can stop himself, catching Billy's arm.

“Billy,” he says, voice trembling. “Don't.”

“You want me out, so I’m getting out,” Billy says. “If you don’t trust me, you shouldn’t bring me home with you. It’s that simple.”

Steve's grip tightens. “If I ask you to tell me the truth, will you?”

“I think you should let me get out of the car, Steve.”

“If I _ask_ , will you _tell me?”_ Steve presses. “Or has this all been bullshit?”

“None of this has been bullshit,” Billy says, unflinching under Steve’s grip. “I promise you.”

“Then if I don't ask, you don't have to say it.” Steve says. “If you don't say it, it's not _real_.”

“Do you want me to tell you that I’m the monster in the woods?” Billy asks.

“I’m not saying you _are_ ,” Steve says. He’s not sure what he is saying, though. What he’s implying.

Billy huffs out a laugh.

“I want to show you something in the woods tomorrow,” Billy says. “Will you come with me?”

Hopper seems to think Billy’s involved, somehow. Seems to think Billy’s sketchy, that Steve doesn’t know him as well as he should. It leaves a bad taste in Steve’s mouth, a stammer in his heart.

Steve thinks he should say no. Thinks he should let Billy get out of his car and then run the other way before he can find out more.

Drive hard and fast until he can forget all about him and his hungry, blue eyes.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks. “Tell me where you're going, right now, and I promise I'll come with you tomorrow.”

“Home,” Billy says.

It’s the truth or a lie, and Steve has no way of telling which is which. He’s never _seen_ Billy’s home. Suddenly, Steve realizes he’s got no idea where Billy lives. No goddamn clue. Steve chokes on something. _Horror_ , he thinks; _sorrow_ , he realizes.

He lets Billy go.

Steve doesn’t want to, but he can’t seem to stop himself from watching Billy’s back, retreating into the woods. Until he’s gone, into the darkness, lost amongst the trees and the shadows.

Going home. Or going somewhere else.

-*-

Steve’s quiet throughout Nancy and Joyce’s ranting. Quiet through Tommy’s anger. Quiet through Jonathan and Carol’s interrogation.

He’s quiet until Hopper gets back, well after the sun has start to set, and pulls Steve aside to speak in the privacy of the den.

“What were you thinking?” Hopper asks, but it’s so _kind_.

Steve picks at the edges of his worn cast. “I wasn’t.”

“You could have been killed. The building could have collapsed on you. That -- you could have been attacked.”

“I know,” Steve doesn't meet his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“Jesus,” Hopper says. He’s grabbed a beer from Steve’s fridge and is drinking it, can sweating in his hands. “ _Jesus_.”

“What'd you guys do?” Steve asks. “With the evidence? What did you do?”

“We found some accelerant and burned the body. I have the files. I’ll make sure they get to the _right_ people.”

Steve swallows, throat burning like it's full of bile. “Right.”

He tears at the edges of his cast. Wants it off. Wants any proof of these last couple of months gone.

“It didn't-- that wasn't what I saw. In the woods. Do you think they made something else like that?”

“I think they probably made a lot of things. I’m surprised anything survived, honestly. But maybe. Sure. Something could’ve gotten out, could’ve killed all those people,” Hop says. “If you had asked me if I thought this was done by an honest-to-god monster a day ago, I would’ve said that’s crazy.”

“You still think it's a person,” Steve says. “Who?”

“I think they’re all too connected,” Hopper says.

Which doesn’t exactly answer Steve’s _question_.

“Hop,” Steve says, finally going still, finally meeting his eyes. “Who do you think it is?”

“I don’t _know_ who it is,” he says. “I don’t have any goddamn idea. But I don’t like how involved your friend seems to be, and I don’t like that he sprouted up out of fucking _nowhere_.”

Steve frowns. “What do you mean: out of nowhere?”

“I looked him up,” Hopper says, because of _course_ he did. “No records anywhere that I could find. No school, no address, no social security number.”

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“Wait,” Steve says. “Wait, but he goes to school with us.”

“There’s no record of him being enrolled.”

Steve shakes his head again. “That-- that doesn't make any sense.”

Hopper shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, kid. He’s not enrolled in the school. There’s no record of his name anywhere. Sure, he could be auditing classes -- but anyone can do that, with permission from the professor, as long as there’s seats.”

“I--” Steve's throat works. “I don't… _jesus_.”

“I don’t like it,” Hopper says. “But that also doesn’t mean I think he _did_ it. But he could be connected, somehow.”

“Right,” Steve says, dull and quiet, thinking of all Billy's comments, of his sure way of handling it all, of how he'd been so worried about the _trees_ and not the _people_. “Okay. Um. I need-- I still need to shower, so.”

“Steve,” Hopper says. “Tell me what you’re thinking. This can’t be easy for you. You don’t have to do it all alone.”

Steve's mouth presses into a thin line. “I, uh… I dunno. It's just… a lot to take in. Think about. You know?”

“You saw -- a lot today. No one expects you to be fine about it.”

“Yeah,” Steve grunts. “Would be easier if-- well, if Billy was here.”

“Where did he _go_?” Hop asks.

Steve shrugs. “I don't-- I don't _know_. I don't know where he _lives_ , I don't know where he goes, I don't _know_.”

“How long have you two been dating?”

“A month or two?” Steve says. “Maybe?”

“How do you get in touch?”

“Met him at school,” Steve says, shrugging. “Had class together and usually made plans on campus. He always came over here, even before we started dating, and he'd crash on the couch or in the guest room.”

“So, he always finds you. You never find him.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, that sounds _good_ ,” Hopper says, and finishes the last of his beer.

“What?” Steve asks. “You think he's stalking me?”

“I don’t _know_ what I think,” Hopper says. “I just don’t think it sounds _good_.”

“Right,” Steve huffs. “Jesus.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Hopper repeats.

Steve lets his head hang for a second. “Will you let me know? If you find anything?”

“I will. Will you stay away from Billy Hargrove?” Hopper asks.

“I will,” Steve says.

It's a lie.

-*-

Steve waits.

He showers, changes, hides in his room for a while-- and _waits_. Waits until the house is quiet and Hopper is gone on patrol. Waits until he can sneak downstairs and out into his dad's garage.

Finds a pair of clippers and cuts through plaster and plexiglas to free his arm. Leaves the mess of his cast there, rinses his arm off in the sink in the kitchen, and then bundles himself up in his best clothes and his nicest, thickest jacket before stepping out his back door and heading for the woods that border his home.

It's still cold, burning and frigid, and the ground seems to billow with a fog, a steam, as the sun starts to come up at the edges of the forest. The cold of dawn bites at his face and fingers. He tucks himself deeper into his coat and marches on.

The woods are silent and still around him. The leaves barely rustle in the trees, the twigs barely snap and crunch underneath his feet.

It’s dark. But not dark enough that he needs a flashlight. Not dark enough that he should head back.

Steve keeps going. Keeps pressing onward and inward, deeper into forest. Heading for the heart of it. Knowing Billy's waiting there.

Just for him.

Steve doesn’t even startle when he presses past a bush and spots Billy, leaning up against a tree directly in front of Steve, maybe thirty yards away. Hands in his pockets, standing as still as the woods, eyes caught on Steve in the darkness.

He does stop, though. Stops and stands there, apart from him, _away_ from him.

And he's so tired he can feel it in his _bones_ , but standing there with Billy's eyes on him in the middle of a forest with roots soaked in blood, wakens his nerves. Sets them alight.

“I promised I'd come,” Steve says, instead of anything else. “So, what do you want to show me?”

“Is your arm okay?” Billy asks, instead. “Your cast is gone.”

“It's fine,” Steve says, and it is, mostly.

It aches a little and every touch feels like fire. He thinks it should be okay, though. Was going to get it off at the doctor's soon, anyway.

He doesn't want to talk about that with Billy, though. Doesn't want to argue about it, either.

He doesn't know what Billy might do.

“What did you want to show me?”

“A tree,” Billy says, like it’s _simple_.

Steve shifts-- sighs, jaw ticking, feet shuffling through the brush.

“ _Okay_ ,” he says. “Where is it, then?”

“Not too far. Will you take my hand?”

Steve _quakes_. Doesn't move a muscle.

Just stands there and stares at Billy reaching out toward him.

“Why?” he asks.

“Please,” Billy says. “Just trust me.”

“Kinda hard to do when I don't know who you really are,” Steve says, but he steps forward a little.

Billy extends his hand, fingers out. So bright, even in the dawn.

“You do. You know me. I’ve never lied to you, Steve. Come with me, please?”

Steve feels something pull in his chest. Taut and totally wrenching.

Could bring him to his knees if he let it.

“Lying by omission is still lying,” Steve says, shuffling a little closer, pulling his hand from his pocket and letting it hang at his side.

“Is it?” Billy asks. “Or is it simply protecting you from the truth?”

Steve laughs before he can stop himself. “Is that what you were doing? _Protecting_ me?”

“Always,” Billy says. “Please, Steve.”

Steve doesn't want to. He wants answers. He wants to go home, where it's warm and he's safe. And he's _scared_.

Billy _scares him_ and it's _terrible_.

But he reaches out, fingers trembling, breath stalling as he slides his fingers into Billy's waiting hand.

Steve braces himself, but -- nothing happens.

Billy’s hand is warm and his grip is sure, but gentle as his fingers close around Steve’s.

“Thank you” Billy says, voice soft, as he leads Steve away, deeper into the woods.

Steve follows quietly. He doesn't trust his voice or his anger or his fear.

He keeps his eyes down. Lets Billy lead him, his hand wrapped in the warmth of Billy's own, his gaze on his feet as the walk through the brush.

He's so wrapped up in it he hardly notices when it starts snowing.

But it does and he blinks up at what sky he can see through the canopy of the trees. Watches the first snow of the season come down in a soft flurry.

It's not long at all before Billy stops in front of him. Slowly coming to a standstill.

When Steve looks around, they're in a dense part of the forest he's never seen before. Ahead of them, not too far away, the trees clear slightly -- to make way for this huge tree, towering right in the center of it all. Giant and dark and tangled. With branches that stretch up higher than any of the others.

It's stunning. Branches winding high and out. Like an ancient giant. Slowly, gently weighed down by the snow.

But Steve doesn't really want to give Billy the satisfaction of his awe.

He bites the inside of his cheek, staring up at it, and says: “Is this it?”

“Yeah,” Billy says.

He walks them a little closer.

In the dawn light, the forest is spectacular. Magical. Despite the snow, Steve doesn’t even feel cold. Just reverent.

“What's so special about it?” he asks, tipping his head back now, carefully stepping over roots and debris.

“How old do you think most of the trees in this forest are?”

Steve shrugs. “There's probably a good few of them that have been here since before the town.”

Billy just nods.

“This one’s been here since before America was colonized.”

Steve's entire hand spasms in Billy's, skin prickling, throat working.

“It's old,” he says, like he's commenting on the weather.

“Very old. It was here when this forest stretched across half this continent. It’s been here through it all.”

Steve shudders and blinks away from the tree and over at Billy. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Because I want you to understand what they’re destroying. This tree is _eight hundred_ years old. This forest is a fraction of a fraction of the size it once was. It’s _dying_ and they’re _killing_ it.”

Steve stares at him for a moment. For longer than a moment.

“Does that justify it?” he asks. “Does that justify what you're doing?”

For a little while, Billy doesn’t say anything.

Then, he feels Billy’s fingers twitch in his.

“Would you just stand by, if someone was killing you? Would you let them?”

Steve feels something in him clench up and spasm.

“I--” he falters, wets his lips, steps away. “No. But that's not-- it's not the _same_ because-- because they're killing _the forest._ Not you. Right?”

“If the forest dies, I die.”

“ _No_ ,” Steve says, pulling his hand free, stepping back further. “No, that’s-- It doesn’t _work_ like that. Humans don’t _die_ because a few trees get chopped down.”

Billy just sticks his hands in his pockets and looks up at the tree.

“You're right. _Humans_ don't,” he agrees.

Steve's heart drops straight to the earth.

-*-


	8. show me yours, i'll show you mine

-*-

The snow is still falling. Around them is nothing but quiet.

Steve wouldn’t be able to hear anything, anyways, not with the way his heart is pounding in his ears.

“Humans don’t,” Steve repeats. “Billy-- I… I can’t-- I don’t--”

“I’m not human, Steve.”

Like it’s simple. Like it’s _easy_.

“Yeah, I think I fucking _got that_ ,” Steve snaps, and he feels suddenly helpless, suddenly vulnerable, in a way he hadn’t before. “So, what the fuck are you?”

Billy just shrugs.

“I've been here since this forest was born. I don't have a word for what I am.”

“Okay,” Steve nods, stiff and stilted. “We done here, then? Now that you've shown me your big, important tree? Or am I next on the chopping block?”

Billy doesn't stumble back, but it's a near thing. “I would never hurt you.”

He looks _gutted_.

“Sorry if I find that a little hard to believe,” Steve says, trying not to feel bad, trying not to wince away from that look. “Considering, oh, I dunno-- all the people you’ve killed. And the dreams.”

“I killed them because they were attacking me. Because they were killing _me_.” Billy sounds frustrated, upset. Like he just can't get Steve to _see_. But then his face twists up, going confused. “ _What_ dreams?”

“The _dreams_ , Billy.” Steve snaps. “Don’t play _dumb_. The ones of the bodies, of watching them _die_ , the ones of us, in the fucking clearing.”

Billy goes _quiet._

“I really -- don't know what you're talking about. You -- _saw_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve says, arms crossing over his chest. “I _told you_ about my dreams.”

“Of the clearing?”

“Yes, _jesus_ , Billy.”

“I didn't think -- _I_ didn't do that.”

“Then what did, huh?” Steve asks, throwing a half hysteric gesture to the woods. “Something else out there playing Mister-fucking-Sandman?”

“I don't know,” Billy says. “Your dreams are yours. I would never --”

“But you’d kill people,” Steve says, shoving at him, hard enough to take him back a step. “You’d kill people but you wouldn’t invade my head? How am I supposed to believe that? How am I supposed to believe _any_ of what you’re saying, huh?”

“If someone came at you with a gun, would you be justified in killing them, because they're trying to kill you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve says. “But it’s not the same as killing the guy that sold him the gun. And then all the people that work at the company that _made_ the gun. _Ten people_ , Billy. _Ten_. And how many have you taken out before? Dozens? Hundreds? _Countless_? How do you expect me to feel _safe_ around you? You’re not even _human_.”

“I don't know,” Billy says, and it rings something like truth. “I maintain the balance. Life and death. It’s all a part of a bigger picture you can't see. It's not necessarily _death_ \-- it's moving on to the next stage. Continuing on in the path. It's inevitable.”

Billy looks up at the tree again. It's 800 years old, Billy said, but Steve wonders if maybe Billy watched it grow from a seedling.

“I used to prolong it, back in the day. When these woods were still dense. Sprawling. I wouldn't ever hurt you, Steve. You're _good_.”

“That's bullshit,” Steve says. “That's bullshit and somewhere in you, you _know_ it's bullshit. I'm not _good_. I-- I'm so pissed, so _terrified_ of _you_ , I want to burn this entire _forest_ down. To ashes. I'm not _good_. I'm just another human in a long line of humans I'm sure you had a blast seducing.”

“You’re the first,” Billy says. “That wasn’t a lie. Nothing I said about you was a lie.”

But Billy looks something close to scared, taking a step back, toward that giant, towering tree.

“That's _bullshit_ ,” Steve says, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. “Because if you didn't lie, you wouldn't keep _doing_ this. Because you said you'd do _anything_ for me, but you keep _killing people.”_

“I want to live,” Billy says. “I don’t want to die. I’ve already -- dwindled. I’m so much... _less_. I’m forgotten, now.” And Steve doesn’t know what that _means_ , but Billy presses on. “If you ask me to stop, I will.”

Steve's read enough stories to know it's not that simple. That it could never be that simple.

He takes a shuddering breath, in the cold, and lets it out.

“What's the catch?”

“I need _help_ ,” Billy says. “I can’t -- keep the woods alive alone, anymore.”

Steve frowns. “And how am I supposed to help with that?”

“A long time ago,” Billy says, “people used to worship me. In that clearing I brought you to.”

“You--” Steve blinks. “You want me to worship you?”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” Billy says. “But if you could go there. If you could spend time there, appreciating the forest, the woods, that would -- help.”

“And that's-- it? That's all you want?”

“If I asked you to stay with me, you wouldn’t want to,” Billy says. “So there’s no point in asking.”

Steve feels something stick in his throat. “You want me to stay with you.”

“Yes,” Billy says, but he looks sad when he says it. “But the world is full of sacrifice and we don’t always get what we want.”

For a moment, all Steve can do is stare at him. Standing there, looking older than Billy ever has. Ancient and full of regret-- of sorrow-- so profoundly _sad_. Standing there, at the base of a tree, older than Steve can fathom. Brilliant and bright and terrifying.

His throat works and he looks away. To the world slowly drowning in snow.

“I can't--” he sighs, eyes pinching shut. “Jesus. Okay. How-- How can I know you're being honest? That-- that just a bit of worship will be enough?”

“I can’t tell you if it’ll be enough,” Billy says. “I can’t promise that. But I can promise you I won’t ask for more, for anything you’re not willing to give.”

Steve shudders, wrapping his arms around himself.

“What _would_ be enough?”

“I don’t know. I don’t _know_ how to keep the forest alive.”

“It's _your forest._ ” Steve says. “How do you _not_ know?”

“Because nothing I’ve ever done has _fixed_ it. Because it’ll never go back to the way it was. _I’ll_ never go back to what I was. I was so strong, Steve. So powerful.”

Steve's eyes flutter as he looks at him. “You don't look like this, do you? Not really.”

“You know what I look like,” Billy says.

Steve nods.

“Show me,” he says.

And so Billy does.

With no warning, his body just -- dissolves. It darkens and stretches out, shooting up and up, until he’s tall, taller than some of the trees around them -- nearly twenty feet, maybe twenty-five. It’s hard to say, when Steve can’t focus directly on him, like he’s shadows swirling, indistinct.

There are antlers, again, that look like branches. Long limbs. Glowing eyes. He stretches toward the sky, until Steve has to crane his neck to see him -- until Billy stops, bends a little, and then crouches down on strange, thin legs that end in giant hooves -- until he’s eye-level with Steve. With a face so indistinct, so _dark_ that Steve feels like he’s looking into nothingness itself.

Steve shakes where he's standing. Stares at Billy with wide eyes, with catching, faltering breath.

Then, carefully, he reaches out. Touches his fingertips to what he thinks is Billy's cheek. Flinches when he feels it. When something pulses at the touch and zips all along his nerves.

“You're warm,” he says, stunned, breathless.

_Always_ , Billy says. Steve hears it mostly in the air around him -- everywhere, and all at once.

Steve's hand turns, thumb following the path of his fingertips. “You weren't. In my dreams-- you were cold in my dreams.”

_I wasn’t in your dreams. I don’t -- do that. Those were nightmares,_ Billy says. _I don’t know why you saw what you saw. Other than, maybe, the forest wanted you to._

“Why would it--?” Steve shakes his head, hand twitching back, away from Billy's face-- away from the thing, the creature, the _godlike figure_ before him-- suddenly terribly and incredibly intimidated. “Why would it do that?”

Billy stretches toward him, trying to follow the trajectory of his hand -- but he doesn’t press too close, doesn’t follow too far. He lets Steve pull away.

_I don’t know everything,_ Billy says, with something like a laugh. _Even though you seem to think I do_.

“Well, you're an ancient forest god creature thing,” Steve says, shifting, shoving his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunching up. “You _should_ know everything.”

Billy doesn’t _dispute_ that, which is saying a lot, that calling him a god isn’t necessarily _inaccurate_.

_The world is a complex place. Asking me to know what the forest is thinking is like -- hm. Maybe, asking you what the microbes in your stomach are thinking. Not exactly the same -- but not dissimilar._

“This is crazy,” Steve says, dull, blinking a few times and stepping back. “ _This is crazy_.”

_The world is a much more complex place than humans realize._ _That doesn’t mean it’s crazy._

“It's _crazy_ ,” Steve insists. “It's-- it's-- it's _too much_. You know that, right? That this is-- this is-- _so crazy_.”

Billy shifts a little. He doesn’t stand up, but he does stretch. The antlers on his head _move_ a little, like they’re shifting with him. Reaching out toward the sun, swaying a little bit, in the breeze. Gathering snow, just like the old tree.

Like Billy is truly a part of the forest.

_Do you want me to change back?_

“This is you, right?” Steve asks.

_Yes. But that is also me. It’s not -- unlike me to walk amongst people, on occasion. To talk with them, eat with them, lay with them. I’ve never grown close to one before, though. Whether you choose to believe me or not, it’s the truth._

“This is… fine. For now.” Steve says, head tilting, eyes skimming over him, over his towering antlers. “But why did you? Choose me?”

_You were kind when you had no reason to be._

“ _When_?”

_That night, in the woods, with the fox._

“The fox,” Steve repeats back, and he remembers the yowling, the fear, the way that poor thing snapped at him. “In the trap?”

_Yes_ , Billy says. _In the trap. You were kind when you had no reason to be._

“It was hurt,” Steve shrugs, face burning a little, even in the cold. “It was caught and hurt and scared. What else could I have done?”

_So many would have ignored her. Would have walked away when she snapped._

“She was scared,” Steve says. “Of course she snapped. I’m sure-- I mean, I’m sure other people would’ve done the same.”

_I've seen a lot in the woods. You should have been scared but instead you helped._

“I was scared shitless,” Steve says.

It sounds like Billy hums.

_But you didn't run_. _Instead you helped_.

A breath catches in Steve’s chest, that sound thrumming between his ears. He lets out a small sound of his own and has to look away again-- from Billy’s fathomless face, from his burning eyes, from his antlers that twist and groan and grow under the weight of snow falling from above them.

He shifts again, shoes crunching in the fresh blanket building under his feet. With his eyes not on Billy, he realizes just how _cold_ it is out. Tucks in tighter to his coat and stamps a foot a little.

“So, you saw that and decided to stalk me?” Steve asks.

_I wasn't stalking. I wanted to know you._

“And now that you know me?” Steve asks.

_Now that I know you, I adore you_.

As always, Billy’s earnest and blatant honesty hits him hard. Knocks him dizzy, at least for a moment, and he nods slowly even though he doesn’t know what he’s nodding about.

“You adore me,” Steve says. “ _You_.”

_Is that so hard to believe?_

“Yes,” Steve says, eyes drifting over his unfathomable shape, offering up a weak smile. “Have you seen you?”

_Is that important?_

Billy shakes his head, sending snow flying everywhere.

Steve brings up a hand, ducking a little, covering his eyes. Still, the snow lands in his hair and on his coat and he has to blinks some away from his lashes.

“You’re kidding, right?” Steve asks, a laugh bubbling up out of him. “You’re like an Eldritch giant. And I’m… _not_. Kinda hard to make that work.”

Steve blinks more snow from his eyes, and then Billy's human again. Standing in front of him, hair clean, snow only just beginning to fall on it.

“There are ways. But -- I'm not asking you to. I know you don't want to. I know you don't trust me.”

“I don’t trust you,” Steve agrees, shivering, and he’s not sure how Billy had taken up so much _space_ before, even though without him occupying it, the area seems so vast. “I never said I didn’t want you. I just… don’t think I _should_.”

Billy’s quiet for a moment. When Steve looks at him, really _looks_ at him, he sees the awe in Billy’s eyes. The love.

And if he un-focuses his eyes, just a bit, he can see Billy. Can _really_ see him. A shadow of his human self, crouching down, at eye-height for Steve.

“I could promise you a long life. Full of magic and passion and balance. You would be -- like me. I could make that happen for you.” He looks hopeful, and sad, all at once. “No one would worship you, not like they once did for me -- but you would still be strong. And you would live as long as these woods stand.”

The offer sucks the breath right out of him. He stands there, in the snow, across from Billy, rooted to the spot. Like one of so many trees.

Finally, after a long second, he sucks in a stuttering, stilted breath.

“That’s probably the best marriage proposal you’ve offered up, yet.”

Billy huffs out a laugh. “What, the prospect of immortality really that good for you?”

“No,” Steve says. “No, that’s… actually the worst part of it. I don’t want to live forever.”

“It’s not actually forever,” Billy says. “One day I’ll die. Just like everything else. Nothing _truly_ lives forever.”

“But it’s a long time,” Steve says. “I’d outlive my parents. My friends. Maybe more than that. If I say yes, I have to give all that up. Don’t I?”

“Yes,” Billy says, carefully. “You would.”

“I don’t…” Steve’s face breaks, his throat working, his eyes burning. “I’m sorry. _I’m sorry_. I don’t think I can do that.”

“I'm not asking you to,” Billy says. “I couldn't ask that of you. I can -- wait. I would. For you. I'd wait.”

Steve frowns. “Wait?”

“I would wait forever for you,” Billy says. He takes a step forward, closer to Steve, trying to slowly bridge the gap between them. “I love you,” he says. “And I hope that maybe, _maybe_ , you’ll one day change your mind.”

Steve is stuck, rooted to the spot, eyes wide. He watches as Billy steps closer.

In his chest, that delicate, terrifying thing unfurls and he recognizes it for what it is: love.

Like a bow, his heart strings pull taut.

“That's not fair,” he says, voice a hush.

“Why not? If you don’t change your mind, I wouldn’t begrudge you for it.”

“Because you can't just--” Steve huffs, throat tight, chest tighter. “You can't just _do that_. Say that after-- after all of _this_ and expect it to _land_ well.”

“I didn’t expect it to,” Billy says, and for the first time, he actually sounds a little angry.

Not at Steve, but maybe himself. _Maybe_.

“I didn’t expect it to, and that’s why I’m not _asking_ you to. I’m just asking you to -- visit, once in a while. Not even me, just the forest. Just the clearing.” He breathes out, like he’s trying to steady himself, and Steve feels a gentle breeze, snow falling sideways. “I know I don’t deserve it. But I’m hoping you’ll consider it, anyway.”

“If I say yes, will you stop killing people?”

“Yes,” Billy says, after a beat. “If you want me to, I will.”

“Yes,” Steve says, without a moment of hesitation.

To both. To everything.

He waits for it to sink in. For Billy to get it. For the realization to sink into those blue eyes.

When he sees it, when they widen, just a bit, he holds out a hand to stop Billy from stepping closer.

“I'm not saying you can't defend yourself,” Steve says. “You can. But-- there's gotta be a better way to do it. And-- and I won't-- I'm not going to accept your other offer just yet.”

“Done,” Billy says. So quick. “You don't have to. I don't deserve that from you. Any of it.”

“I just need time,” Steve says. “It's a lot. And… and I don't know if I can leave everyone behind.”

“I know,” Billy says. “I know.”

Steve nods and drops his hand. “Then, yes. I'll do whatever you need to feel safe.”

“Thank you,” Billy says. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve shivers, the cold finally getting to him.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “No problem.”

The next thing Steve knows, Billy's stripping off his jacket and handing it out, passing it over. “Will you take it? I can't really keep you warm if you won't let me near you.”

Steve hesitates and then reaches out, to take the offered coat. Lets Billy pass it to him and pulls it over his shoulders.

“You don't get cold, do you?”

“No,” Billy says. “Not really. I know that it _is_ cold. But I don’t get cold.”

The jacket is warm over Steve’s shoulders, but somehow the snow, when it gathers on Billy’s hair, doesn’t melt.

Steve hums. It's weird because he wants to bundle Billy up-- but knows it's useless. Pointless.

The instinct is still there, though. Which is something.

“I should get back,” Steve says. “Before they realize I'm gone.”

“Yeah,” Billy says, voice low, kind of defeated. But he doesn’t push, doesn’t try and get Steve to stay. “I’ll walk you back. It’ll be -- faster. It’d take hours, if you walked alone.”

He offers Steve his hand, like he did before. Fingers long and sure.

But then -- Billy’s face sours.

“Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

Billy’s eyebrow furrows. “Brenner’s in the forest.”

Steve's shoulders draw up. “ _What_? You can _sense_ that?”

Billy very nearly rolls his eyes.

“Yes.” He holds out his hand a little more forcefully. “Come with me. _Please_.”

“Where?” Steve asks, but he reaches out and lets his fingers slide back into Billy's grip.

_The Clearing_ , Steve hears, but he doesn’t really get a chance to focus, because suddenly Billy’s pulling him through the trees. They’re walking, walking _quick_ , but the trees pass by them quickly, almost like they’re folding away with each passing step. Like Billy’s breezing them through miles and miles with only the barest of effort.

And then they’re _there_ , suddenly at a standstill in the middle of the green. It’s beautiful in the morning light, untouched by the snow, by the cold, by anything else around. Maybe even by time itself.

Steve's breathless by the time they get there. His legs feel like jelly and he nearly topples right over. He shudders and clutches at Billy's hand, eyes darting around, head swimming, mouth dry.

“What--?” he rasps, his voice cracking, his fingers going tighter around Billy's. “Why here--?”

“Because this place is mine,” Billy says. “No one can get here if I don’t want them to. Will you stay?” he asks, looking edgy. “He doesn’t normally come here and I want him out of my forest, but I want you _safe_.”

Steve tugs at his hand; doesn't let go. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m not going to kill him,” Billy says. “You already told me not to.”

Billy pauses for a moment and then frowns.

“Ugh, _Hopper’s_ here too,” he says.

“Maybe-- maybe he's tracking Brenner,” Steve says. “He's got all that evidence-- maybe Brenner spooked and decided to take care of it on his own-- the old lab. And Hopper's gonna catch him in the act.”

“It’s not like Brenner can _do_ anything,” Billy says.

But then he’s frowning, licking his lips in contemplation.

“Oh,” he says, slowly. “Maybe he can.”

“What? What is it?”

“Gasoline.”

Billy smacks his lips, nose wrinkled, like he can taste it in his mouth, foul and foreign. So unlike anything in the forest.

Steve feels a fissure of tension ripple up through him.

“He's gonna burn the old lab,” he breathes.

Billy squints at Steve, but then nods. “You’re right.” Unquestioning. Then: “Will you stay? While I stop him?”

Steve wants to go with him. Wants to _make_ Billy take him with him.

But he lets his hand go. Steps back. Nods, short and clipped.

“Don't--” he wets his lips, taking a breath. “Don't do anything stupid, okay?”

Billy nods. He leans in, automatic, without _thinking_ and then pauses, frowns, and changes his trajectory -- kissing Steve on the cheek. “Don’t _leave_. You’re safe here.”

Steve shudders. He turns his face and lets his mouth press, briefly, fleetingly, to the corner of Billy's.

“I've got a feeling I wouldn't be able to find my way home without you around anyway,” he says.

“You would,” Billy says. “But please don’t leave until I get back.”

And with that, Billy’s pushing away from Steve and out of the clearing, disappearing into something big that lumbers through the trees.

Just -- _gone_.

The clearing is quiet and just as warm without him. Steve sheds Billy's jacket and then his own. He paces, arms over his chest, and hates that he said he'd stay here while Billy is gone, off to face the monster that created that horrible place below the lab, and _Hopper_.

He feels useless. Like a treasure hoarded away in a gilded cage.

But Billy told him it wasn’t safe.

Billy told him to wait.

And so Steve does.

He waits and he _waits_ , pacing turned to sitting, turned to lying flat on his back, staring at the grey sky above.

He waits -- until the wind picks up and brings a chill through the clearing.

It brings the scent of smoke, too. Faint -- but unmistakable.

Steve pushes himself up onto his elbows, breathing in deep and slow. Smells the wood smoke before he looks up, brows pinched, and _sees_ it.

A cloud, billowing over the treetops, forever away.

There's a _crack_ and _pop_ , like wet wood igniting, from right behind him. He turns, twists, eyes wide, and sees the forest in flame. Sees it licking at the boundaries. Feels the sudden, painful _heat_ of it.

Then, he hears the _roar_ of sound. Deafening and ringing in his ears. Feels the ground _tremble_. Jumps and scrambles to his feet as it expands and compresses right under him. The ground _moving_. The earth _breathing_. Quaking in pain.

And when Steve looks up, the fire that had been around him is _gone_. But in the distance, there is smoke, and Steve doesn't know what that means.

But he knows it's not good.

For a moment, he hesitates, because he promised to stay.

But then the earth rumbles under his feet and he knows he can't stay _here_.

-*-

The woods whip past him fast. He’s running, twigs and branches snapping underneath his feet, everything blurring as he stumbles his way forward, toward. He doesn’t know where he is, where he’s _going_ , but there’s a weird trust there, something tangible at the back of his head telling him to go _forward_ , to _run_ \-- like the woods are helping him get to where he needs to be, just like they helped Billy.

Just a little slower. A little more clumsy.

Every so often, Steve trips. Stumbles -- but doesn’t quite fall.

He presses on, until there’s smoke, until it’s clear that he’s going the right way.

Until he breaks through the treeline and sees the old lab ablaze. The entire building is burning up, fire bright and hot, so hot Steve flinches back for a second.

When he drops the arm over his eyes, he sees that it's caught the line of trees around the building. That it's _spreading._ That it could easily and very quickly turn into a wildfire.

He stumbles toward it, eyes hunting over the blaze, and chokes a little when he sees Hopper at his truck, radio in his hand, staring as the building burns up. When he spots what Hopper is really looking at, the towering figure screaming and singed and crawling toward a man with white hair and a big gun and a suit that's torn and bloody at the leg.

“Shit,” Steve says, veering toward Hopper.

“Firetrucks,” Hopper’s saying into the radio. “Yeah, as many as you can get. The woods are catching.”

“Hop!” Steve calls, tripping over himself a little to get to him, ducking behind the truck as cover-- of the only intact windows of the place blows out in a shower of heat and glass. “Hop, what happened?”

The explosion rings in his ears.

“I got a call about Brenner coming into the woods. Figured he was heading here -- someone must’ve tipped him off. Looks like he was trying to get rid of evidence.”

But Hop’s eyes aren’t on the flames, on the way they’re licking into the woods, spreading into the forest.

He’s looking at what can only be Billy, at the monster that is Steve’s boyfriend, a dark mass of swirling, angry shadows, a shape that will not seem to _stick_.

“Hop, we gotta put the fire out,” Steve says, and something in him quakes and recoils as Billy screeches, inhuman and agonized.

“Do you want to clue me in as to what _that_ is?” Hop asks, because he’s smart, because Steve’s not too good at playing a fool.

“The monster in the woods,” Steve says. “My boyfriend.”

Steve hears Hopper take a long breath. Something like a sigh. “Of course he is.”

Like his life can’t get any weirder.

With what they saw in the basement of that lab -- fat chance.

“To be fair,” Steve says. “I just found out.”

“How’s that going?” Hopper says, as Billy screams again, crumpling on the ground in front of a cornered Brenner.

Steve hears gunshots, can only imagine that Brenner’s shooting at Billy.

Steve feels something in him echo in pain. “Not great.”

Billy doesn’t seem to be hindered much by the gunshots -- it’s the fire in the woods that’s hurting him. Steve doesn’t know _how_ he knows -- but he just knows.

“How do we stop him?” Hopper asks.

Steve falters. “You're not gonna like it.”

“I don’t like _any_ of this,” Hopper says. “Hit me, what’s your plan?”

“Dive in head first and hope I don’t die,” Steve says, with a glib, nonchalance he doesn’t actually _feel_ ; he sighs when Hopper _looks_ at him. “I’m gonna distract Billy and you’re gonna get Brenner and someone’s going to _put the fire out_.”

Trees explode into flame around them, fire picking up.

“Don’t get me wrong, as much as I love a plan put together with duct tape -- it doesn’t look like your boyfriend is all that _stable_ right now.”

As if on cue, Billy screeches. Loud and pained. His shape shudders and twists and quakes -- like he’s being burned alive, too -- and maybe he is.

“I’ll be fine,” Steve says, with more gumption than he actually has, looking at Hopper one more time. “Seriously. You need to put the fire out.”

And then he’s off. Pushing away from the truck, darting forward even as Hopper calls for him, but Steve’s eyes are on Billy.

On the shadows of his whipping, writhing form. Of his bellows and the crash of noise that comes when he swipes out a hand that is all claw. Of Brenner darting away, pale, bleeding, eyes wide.

“Billy!” Steve calls, over the roar of flames, over the tremble of the earth. “Billy, _stop_!”

Billy continues twisting, continues roaring at Brenner. Towering and terrible -- a nightmare Steve will never forget -- something that Brenner, if he lives through this, will likely never forget, either.

The woods around them are heating up, ash falling, smoke swirling around them. The lab’s ablaze -- but that’s not what’s important. It’s the woods that Steve cares about. It’s Billy.

The smoke starts to get to him before the heat does. It swirls, feeds into the darkness of Billy’s form, and there’s ash in his hair, on his clothes, on his eyelashes. Like snow.

He runs closer, an arm over his mouth, coughing and squinting as he gets closer to the blaze. As he feels it against his skin, like an entity itself, pressing at him like a force.

“ _Billy_ ,” he says again, closer now, reaching out. “Billy, _please_ , you have to stop if we’re gonna put the fire out-- you’re gonna make it _worse_.”

Billy screams again, a loud and terrible thing.

For a moment, he had had Steve’s attention -- but it’s only a moment before he twists again and roars at Brenner and starts advancing again.

Steve wants to cry. Hates the sounds Billy keeps making. Hates the way it twists him up inside. Hates how it sounds like Billy’s _dying_.

He stumbles to a stop for a second, watching Brenner fire again at swirling shadow and ash and heat. Knows-- or hopes-- that the bullets won’t damage him.

Behind him, he hears sirens. The firetrucks Hopper called, already so close, and Steve knows he needs to move _now_.

He lurches forward, reaching out, and touches Billy. Feels the form quiver, feels it give a little, as if it’s not even really there, and then clutches at him.

“ _Billy!”_ he yells, upward, because Billy’s so _tall_ now, even on his hands and knees like this, wrecking the building and making Brenner shout and fall back with a single sweep of his hand. “ _Billy_ , they’re coming to put the fire out. We have to _go_!”

Surprisingly, _so goddamn surprisingly_ , Billy goes.

He yields to Steve, lets Steve pull him, even though at times Steve feels as if he’s pulling at shadows.

“Harrington!” Steve hears, as Steve’s tugging Billy toward a part of the treeline that _isn’t_ burning.

Hopper’s made it somewhere over near Brenner. Gun out. Keeping him there.

Billy roars again. Loud and mean. Quivering in Steve’s grip.

“I’ve gotta get him out of here, Hop!” Steve calls back, but he doesn’t realize it’s not a _stop_ ; it’s a _warning_.

Because while Hopper has his gun on Brenner, Brenner has his gun on _Steve_.

“That _thing_ ,” Brenner shouts, “is a monster! It’s what’s been killing my people!”

“You’re not exactly clean in that department,” Hopper says, not budging an inch. “Put the gun down, Dr. Brenner.”

“Tell him to bring that _thing_ back.” His hand is shaking. Gun shaking, too.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Hopper says, jaw ticking tight, and Steve watches as he presses at Billy, tries to crowd him further _away_. “Put the weapon down, or I _will_ fire, Dr. Brenner.”

Steve hears Brenner cock the gun.

His heart jolts in fear.

The next thing Steve hears is a loud _crack_. Gunfire, ringing in his head, and doubled upon itself. He cringes, ducks, like he might get hit, and covers his face. He feels Billy jerk under his hand, like he’s been hit by something -- feels him _fall_ \-- and then hears Hopper _yelling_. Then -- a loud explosion. Deafening, really. He hears the roar of fire. Feels it, as the concussive wave knocks the breath right out of him, leaves him on wobbly legs, barely upright but for the grace of god.

When he looks again, Hopper is down and Brenner is nowhere in sight.

The panic is palpable. Acidic in his chest.

Everything goes quiet -- other than his heartbeat, loud in his ears.

“Hop --?” Steve says. “Billy?”

Steve’s _scared_. There’s flames raging around them and, somehow, he’s the only one still standing.

He hears the crack of fire, hears the siren drawing closer, and doesn't know what to _do_. Billy's down and Hopper's down and Steve's standing there in the middle of this _mess_.

He falls to his knees next to Billy, pushing at his massive form, trying to wake him. “C'mon, _please_. Please, don't do this.”

It’s hard, looking at Billy like this. Like Steve’s eyes won’t quite focus. Like he’s made up of the smoke that’s all around them. Twisting and writhing and incorporeal.

He groans, loud and pained, but eventually Steve’s pushing and shoving manages to rouse Billy to his knees.

He’s bleeding, Steve can tell. Blood seeping out of his shoulder, his chest. Black and rotten smelling.

“Steve?” A voice, from behind him. Hopper. Rough and ragged with smoke -- but alive.

_Alive_.

Steve twists to face him, but doesn’t stray too far from Billy. Can’t stand the idea, actually, which is a little terrifying all on its own.

“Hop,” he says. “Are you-- I mean, are you _okay_?”

“Yeah,” Hop breathes out. “Just knocked down by the blast. Brenner?” he asks.

Steve shakes his head. “I don't-- I don't _know_.”

_Explosion_. _Burned alive,_ Steve hears, in a voice that he knows as Billy’s. Mumbled, like he’s tired, like he’s half asleep.

“Steve,” Hopper says. “The firetrucks. The police. You -- should get him out of here.”

Like it _pains_ him to tell Steve to run. To tell Steve to take the _murderer_ he’s been looking for back into the woods.

Steve nods. “Will you-- Are you gonna be okay?”

He asks but he's shaking himself. There's soot on his cheeks and clothes. His throat feels cracked and raw.

“Yes,” Hop says. “But your friend doesn’t look too good. Get him away from the fire. We’ll put it out as soon as we can.”

The treeline isn’t that far. Behind the lab, the forest is alite, but the trees behind them are still safe.

Steve nods again and turns to Billy. He pushes at him, meets slow blinking bright eyes, and rocks him, trying to move him.

“Billy,” he says. “We gotta move. Back into the trees. Back to the clearing. Can you do that?”

Billy doesn’t say anything, but he sort of shifts to his feet. For a moment, he looks almost like a giant elk -- four legs and towering over Steve. Like somehow, that’s steadier for him. And -- it might be. There’s so _much_ Steve doesn’t know about Billy, so much he doesn’t understand.

But he pulls him anyway, toward the trees, with all his strength -- and this time, Billy follows.

Steve ushers Billy deeper, into the brush, eyes on him the entire time. Heart in his throat and in his ears, drowning out everything as Billy lumbers along with him.

It’s a long time before Billy’s form becomes more steady underneath Steve’s hand. Before he stops shaking. Before his being shifts into something a bit more manageable -- two legs, lumbering along like something tall and ferocious next to Steve, earth crunching underneath his cloven feet.

Steve starts to wobble a little, the steadier Billy gets, the less Steve feels like he needs to try and support him. He lets out a shuddering breath as he feels Billy’s warmth at his palm. Feels his head swim a little as everything that just _happened_ finally kind of _hits him_.

“Fuck,” he says, when they’re far enough away, and well under his breath enough that Billy probably won’t hear him.

He takes a few more steps and then lets himself fall to his knees.

When his knees hit the ground, they sink into the soft embrace of moss. Green and alive. Untouched by smoke or shadow.

He can feel Billy sink down next to him. Warm, _hot,_ at his side.

For a while, Steve just sits there and breathes, heavy and ragged, his hand still on Billy.

Then, he shudders and looks at him, hunting over his dark form for blood.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

It’s hard to look at Billy when he’s like this, but now that they’re out of the flames, he’s a bit more corporeal. A bit more _solid_.

Still, it’s like Billy _knows_ Steve’s looking at him.

So, between one blink and the next --

Billy’s suddenly human again.

Sprawled out in the moss next to Steve, blood on his clothes, but no bullet holes anywhere. And Steve isn’t really sure how _that_ works, but.

“I’m okay,” Billy says. “Been shot, but -- I’m good. I’m fine.”

Steve nods, a little dumb-- a little _numb_ \-- and sees that his hand is bunched in the sleeve of Billy's shirt, now, instead. It's weird. It's all so weird.

“Been shot before?” he asks, voice rough.

“No,” Billy says. But he shrugs. “The fire hurt worse, though. _That’s_ happened before.”

Steve’s face pinches up. His fingers curl into Billy’s shirt a little more.

“Have they-- Did they put it out, yet?” Steve asks, looking over his shoulder, as if he could see it on the other side of the treeline.

“It’s going out.” He sounds a little pained, still. Like maybe he can _feel_ it. “But it’s better than it was. Contained. Dwindling.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

Billy slumps a little bit more.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just -- need to rest.”

“Rest, then.” Steve says, after a moment. “I'll wait.”

“You’ll wait?”

So hopeful. So genuinely surprised.

Steve shrugs. “Yeah. I'll wait.”

Billy pauses for a moment. His blue eyes look dark and bloodshot. “Can I touch you?” Another pause. “Can I put my head in your lap?”

Steve blinks down at him and then nods, slowly, lifting his arms and finally prying his fingers away from Billy. Tucks his legs up under him and makes room.

“If you want.”

Billy doesn’t ask again. He just shifts and lays out. His movements are pained and cautious, like he’s still healing, like it’s still hard. But he lays his head in Steve’s lap and it’s warm, so warm.

It’s hard to remember that it had been snowing, earlier. Probably still _is_. Just not _here_.

“Will you touch me?” Billy asks, careful, quiet. “I know it’s a lot, but I -- it would help.”

Steve hesitates and then sinks his fingers into Billy's hair, just carding through, soft and slow. Then, he places his other hand over Billy's chest, feels his heart, feels his heat burn _brighter_ , like maybe _Billy_ is on fire.

Steve hears it first in maybe the air. Like the whole forest is humming around him, vibrating with a pleased sort of sound. It takes him a second to realize it’s _Billy_ , that the sound is coming from within Billy’s chest, his throat, just pulsing straight through him and into Steve’s bones.

_Thank you_ , Steve hears as he watches Billy’s eyes close.

Steve stares down at him. He lets Billy settle. Pets through his hair. Feels the heat in him lessen, bit by bit.

“Better?” he asks, after a while.

“Yeah,” Billy says, like he’s drifting, like he’s tired.

Carefully, Steve pushes Billy's curls away from his forehead.

“Rest,” Steve says. “I'll be here when you're done.”

And then, just as carefully, he curls down and presses his lips to Billy's brow.

In his lap, Billy sleeps.

-*-


	9. say goodbye to who I was

-*-

It's dark before Billy stirs.

Steve waits the entire time. Holds still and steady. Nearly nods off himself a few times. Almost lets himself.

But Billy is still terribly warm. His face is still twisted up, like he's in pain, like he's _suffering_.

Steve's heart hurts for him, even though he knows it shouldn't. But he sits there, aching, no matter how much his head tells him he should have already walked away.

By the time Billy has shifted, has opened his eyes, Steve is dazed. Sitting there, like stone, breath shallow, like a waking dream. Not all there-- not in the field, not really.

When Billy pulls away, pushes himself up and takes his warmth with him, Steve feels his loss acutely.

“Thank you,” Billy says, laying a hand over Steve’s fingers. “Thank you, baby.”

Steve blinks at him a few times, slow, and nods.

He doesn't pull away. Sways a little, actually, _toward_ Billy. Wants to curl into the heat of him. Wants to close his eyes, just for a minute.

He feels like he hasn't slept in so _long_.

“Do you need to rest?” Billy asks, hand coming out to reach and touch Steve's shoulder. Gentle, so gentle. Almost pulling him in, but cautious. Like he's not sure if it's welcome. “You can,” Billy offers. “It's safe. You're safe.”

“You're the bogeyman,” Steve says, but presses his face to Billy's throat, finding a pulse of warmth there, drowsy but clutching as he pulls at Billy's shirt. “I'll never be safe.”

“I’ll always keep you safe,” Billy counters.

But he doesn’t argue with being called a monster. Which is nice, Steve thinks, because what he’s saying is _true_ \-- but it must also hurt, too. Because people used to worship Billy, used to revere him. And Billy was their _god_ , not just a simple monster, a child’s nightmare. He’s slipped so much, fallen on tough times as his forest has dwindled and suffered, so small now compared to the vast and old thing it once was. Billy, himself, is now so much smaller, too. It must be hard, to be so old and to be so angry.

Billy tucks his arms around Steve and pulls him in, drawing him into the warmth of his body -- no longer fire-hot, just warm like he was before.

Steve’s fingers clutch into soft bushy fur, forehead resting against the thud of Billy’s heartbeat. He’s soft like a rabbit, silky and smooth, but warm like a duvet -- pleasant, but not smothering.

Steve's eyes are so _heavy_. It's so _easy_ to lull into a haze against him. To feel _safe_ with him.

“I'm glad Brenner is gone,” Steve mumbles; a terrible admission, a frightening one.

“Me too,” Billy says, his voice a deep and pleasant hum around Steve, like the breath of the forest, the sound of the wind through the trees. “Me too.”

Steve shudders. “I want to go _home_.”

“Would you like me to bring you home?” Billy says, after a moment of silence. A beat of what sounds like regret.

Steve shakes his head. His fingers curl into Billy, he presses closer, and breathes slow.

“I don't want to have to talk to Hopper.”

“Okay,” Billy says, and he sounds a little far away, a little dreamy. “Do you want to stay here? I’ll keep you safe.”

“I don't know,” Steve says. “I want-- I want that clearing. I want morning glory. I kept seeing it in my head.”

Steve feels lips press against his hair. “That’s my home. Donno how you saw it. I can bring you there, if you want. It’s -- a special place. Like this, but -- more.”

“I wanna see it,” Steve says. “I've been looking for it.”

“I wanted,” Billy says, but then he hums and doesn’t finish the thought. He just kisses Steve again and lifts him up -- and up and up.

And then Steve is so tall and shrouded in the warmth of Billy’s embrace.

“Alright,” Billy says.

Steve dozes, flitting in and out of sleep as Billy strides through the trees.

He's so _warm_. So warm and safe, cradled against Billy, curled into his heat. He feels the snow hit his face, catch in his hair and on his lashes, but he doesn't mind it.

It’s like -- around him, life and nature keep moving on. But with Billy, curled up in Billy’s arms, Steve is safe from all of it. Protected. Enveloped in his affection.

-*-

He doesn’t quite remember falling asleep, but then he’s waking up, blinking his eyes open into the pink light of dawn.

Steve’s sprawled out on Billy’s bare and human chest. He doesn’t stir when Steve does, doesn’t flinch when Steve shifts to look around them.

They’re laying on a carpet of soft, green moss. Morning glories dotting through the green like little bits of sunlight filtering in through the trees, dappled and soft.

It's old. There's a large tree at the center, big and thick and sprawling. The leaves are full and green. It looks like spring time, even in the dead of winter.

Steve is helpless against it. To the urge to reach out and touch the soft petals of morning glory. To the way his eyes are suddenly wet and his throat is tight and his heart _hurts_.

He sits up, pressing his face to his knees, and _cries_.

-*-

It’s a little while before Billy wakes up.

By the time Steve feels Billy’s hands on him, careful and cautious, his tears have very nearly dried up.

“Baby,” Billy says, a gentle voice in his ear. “Are you okay?”

Steve nods, wiping his eyes with the back of his arm, sniffling.

“I'm fine,” he says, but his voice is still so rough from the smoke, from crying, from being out all night.

“It’s okay,” Billy says, pressing a kiss to Steve’s hair, finally wrapping his arms around Steve, just holding him the way he’s tucked into himself, steady. “I’ve got you, you’re safe. Everything’s over now.”

“I know,” Steve says, and looks at him, and wonders if Billy knows what he means when he says that. “I know. It's over.”

Billy looks at him for a little while, not distracted by the beauty of the space around them. Then again -- if this is where he lives, maybe the beauty’s worn off after all these years. After, maybe, all these centuries.

“You going to come back and visit me?” Billy finally says.

Steve nods, throat working. “I made a promise, didn't I?”

He hears Billy’s teeth click together. Steve hears it, faint but distinct.

“Do you want to see me, when you come back? Or just -- would you rather just...come here. And be alone?”

Steve's chest aches, hollow and cold. “Would you be here? Even if I couldn't see you?”

There’s a pause, like maybe Steve caught Billy in a lie. “If you didn’t want me here, I wouldn’t be here. I could be -- somewhere else.”

It sounds like it pains him, but also, like he’s willing to make that sacrifice.

Steve lets out a little sound. He looks away, to the big tree, to the field of morning glory.

“I wanted--” Steve sighs, touching his fingertips to snowy white petals. “Doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore.”

Steve shifts, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You can be here,” he says. “That's fine.”

“I know this isn’t the fairy tale you were looking for,” Billy says. “That you never _wanted_ to find the monster in the woods.”

“No,” Steve says. “I just-- I just wanted _you_.”

“But not quite the version of me you got, huh?” Billy says, but he’s smiling. Like he knows what he is, and maybe, _maybe_ is a little sorry about it.

“Not quite what was advertised,” Steve admits, chest still aching. “A little more than I bargained for.”

“I’m sorry,” Billy says, and it sounds genuine. Heavy. A little pained. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” He pauses, reaches forward, and then brushes some of the hair out of Steve’s face. “I didn’t really want to tell you. I didn’t want you to run away.”

“I'm not running, Billy.” Steve tells him.

“Okay, but you _were_ scared of me. When you saw me, before.”

“Of course, I was.” Steve says. “I didn't know it was you.”

“But now that you know it’s me?”

He looks dubious -- but a little hopeful, too.

Steve shrugs. He looks away again, into the woods, and thinks about the warmth of Billy wrapped around him-- such a contrast to the cold he thought the monster in the woods was.

“I'm not afraid of you, Billy.” Steve says.

“You’re not afraid of what I can do?”

“No,” Steve says, then falters. “Well. Yes. But-- not the way you think I am.”

Billy hums and Steve can hear it in the air around them. Billy still _looks_ like a person, but it’s hard not to picture him as the giant creature Steve knows he is, that tall and haunting and magnificent thing. It’s not something he can easily forget, especially here, in this place, surrounded by Billy’s own magic.

“Tell me?” Billy asks, fingers brushing over Steve’s skin.

“What you can do is terrifying,” Steve says, holding still, holding steady. “But you're not just what you can do.”

“Can you reconcile that with what I’ve done, with what I’m capable of, though?” And Billy doesn’t sound _accusatory_ \-- just pensive. Like he’s really feeling Steve out. Like he knows their ethics don’t quite line up -- and, truthfully, how could they?

Steve scrubs over his face with both hands. “I don't _know_ , okay? I'm kind of busy processing, right now, and-- and either way I'm just realizing that I don't get to _keep_ you.”

Billy makes a face. “You do. You get to keep me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I don't get to go out with you. I don't get to take you home. I don't get to bring you around my friends, my family. None of it. It's _over--_ and it _hurts_.”

“But,” Billy says, but immediately he trails off, tongue drifting over his lips in thought. “I forgot. For you, it’s -- a long time. For me, waiting for you to visit in all the moments in between? It’s a breath. Maybe two.”

Steve lets out a wet, brittle laugh. “You're not helping your case.”

“You can have that, too. I can give you that. I’m willing to wait,” Billy says. “Until you’re ready. If you want.”

Steve looks at him, finally, and finds the hope-- the _yearning_ \-- plane as day on his face.

“And if I don't?” he asks. “If I never want that?”

Billy’s quiet for a moment.

It’s hard to read his expression and how it changes, but the grief is in his eyes. In the set of his lips.

“It’s not like I can _make_ you,” Billy finally says.

And -- he probably _could_. But it’s nice to know that he wouldn’t want that, wouldn’t want to force Steve into eternity with him.

“So, you'd just… let me go.” Steve says. “If I asked, you'd let me go.”

Billy nods, but it’s a little thing. Like it’s _tough_.

“You wouldn’t be happy if I didn’t. What kind of eternity would that doom us to?”

And Steve doesn't know why that does it. Doesn't know why that promise of keeping him happy that could easily be broken is the thing that makes his heart lurch in his chest with longing--

But it is.

He shifts forward, catching Billy's face between his hands, cupping his jaw and dragging him in. He shifts forward and presses his mouth, clumsy and wanting, to Billy's own.

Billy opens up for him, going soft and supple underneath Steve’s touch. He kisses back just as desperately, hands going for Steve’s hair, fingers trailing over the back of Steve’s neck.

“Baby,” Billy breathes out against Steve’s lips.

There’s reverence in his voice, enough that it sounds like Billy’s praying to Steve, venerating him, praising him. Like Steve’s the deity, the one with the magic, not Billy.

Steve makes a small sound from the back of his throat, eyes closing, pressing closer. Trying to pretend, for a moment, that this isn't some kind of goodbye.

He licks into Billy's mouth and pulls him flush, feeding off the pleased sigh that Billy presses to his lips.

Billy pulls and eases Steve forward -- until Steve’s knees are on either side of Billy’s hips, until he’s nearly as close as he can get, Billy so warm and adoring underneath him.

The worship of Billy’s touch is everywhere, warm hands touching over every inch of Steve. Like he’s mapping him. Like he’s trying to commit him to memory.

Steve nestles even closer. Presses in flush, all against Billy's heat, fingers raking through Billy's hair, pulling a little just to make Billy tug him tighter.

Billy’s warmth creeps into Steve’s rib cage as Billy deepens the kiss, as his hands slide underneath Steve’s shirt. It takes a little while to realize that the ache from his still-healing arm is gone, evaporated overnight, as he tugs Billy’s hair, uncareful, unremembering of his own pain.

“Billy--” Steve breathes between one kiss and the next, spine curving as Billy's hands drag up his back.

Billy doesn’t answer immediately, lost in the kisses Steve keeps feeding him. “Yeah, baby?” he says, eventually, pulling back just enough to be able to talk, to murmur the words against Steve’s lips. “What do you want? Tell me, I’ll give you anything.”

“You,” Steve says, breathless, skin buzzing, heart aching in his chest. “The field under the full moon.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s daytime,” Billy says, but he presses his lips to Steve’s neck anyway. Lets his warmth seep in.

Steve moans, head tilting over, arms draping over Billy's shoulders, rocking in closer. “Give it to me anyway.”

“You’re perfect anyway,” Billy says. “You’re perfect always.”

Steve barely even feels Billy shift, lowering Steve to the soft moss underneath them, mesmerized at the sound of Billy’s voice, at the feeling of those hot lips over the skin at his neck. He feels them at his pulse, pressing there and then parting, teeth finding his heartbeat.

Steve gasps, eyes flying up to the sky, filtered in through branches and leaves. Feels the heat of Billy soak into his very marrow and _shudders_ , high off of it, as he turns his head and bites at the shell of Billy's ear.

“I want you,” he breathes, rocking up and then with him, heels hooking behind Billy's thighs. “ _I want you_.”

“Are you sure?” Billy asks, kissing gently where he’d just been biting. It feels just as hot, though, just as heated.

“Please,” Steve says, pulling at Billy's curls, thighs squeezing at his hips. “ _Please_.”

“I want you too, baby,” Billy says, pulling back. And for a moment, Steve’s heart quickens at the loss of him -- but Billy just reaches down and starts working at Steve’s clothes. First, at Billy’s jacket, fitting warm around him, and then at Steve’s jacket underneath. He keeps going until his fingers duck under Steve’s shirt, working it off slow and steady, like he’s savoring every inch of the movement, every moment in between. “I want you so bad,” Billy says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve has to stop touching him for Billy to pull his shirt over his head. It makes his palms itch and his ribs feel tight, but then he's dragging Billy back close and arching up to meet him, catching his mouth and making a soft, desperate sound there.

“I’ve got you,” Billy says.

It takes him less time to pull off his own shirt. It seems like Steve’s barely even taken a breath before Billy’s leaning down, pressing kisses into his neck, his collarbone, drifting down his torso, leaving heat and warmth in his wake.

Steve huffs, arching. He drags his nails over Billy's shoulders as Billy kisses over him. Spreads his thighs as the heat being pressed to his skin makes a home in his gut and under his ribs.

It’s not long before Billy’s rolling his hips down, rocking against Steve, hard and wanting underneath his jeans. Just as riled up as Steve is, just as needy.

Steve reaches down, curving a hand over Billy's ass as Billy draws up for another kiss. He urges Billy's hips closer, rutting up to meet him, gasping against his mouth.

Billy’s moan fills up the quiet in the clearing and it’s like the air around them warms with the heat of Billy’s desire. Kicking a fire around them, in between them.

“Baby,” Billy breathes out, fingers going to thread through Steve’s hair, tugging him into another kiss.

Steve groans, moving under him and with him, lips parting to welcome him.

“Wanna get you naked,” Billy says, pressing his lips to Steve’s mouth, his cheek, his neck. Over and over again, peppering him with little tokens of admiration, of desire. “Wanna have you naked and spread out for me. Need it. Need you.”

Steve is nodding before he even realizes it. Already squirming and toeing off his shoes and canting his hips up to try and get them off.

“You, too.” he says, reaching for Billy's belt buckle. “Wanna feel you.”

But Billy goes for Steve’s clothes first, helping to ease Steve out of them. He does it carefully, reverently. Undoing the button of his jeans, then the zipper, and then slowly working his jeans down, kissing every bit of flesh he exposes, in no hurry.

Steve's throat works around a low whine. He arches again, as Billy peels him out of his clothes, until his bare skin is pressed to the soft moss.

Until he's laying there, bare and vulnerable, under the raw hunger of Billy's gaze.

“Fuck, look at you,” Billy says, and his voice is low, just as hungry as his eyes.

He lowers himself down, drawing his tongue down the middle of Steve’s belly, straight down to the dip of his navel.

“You’re so beautiful,” Billy says, hot hands splaying over the peaks of his hip bones.

Steve feels that heat pull in his stomach. Feels his cock give a sharp kick.

He sucks in a breath and tugs at Billy's hair.

“Need you, Billy.”

“I’ve got you,” Billy says, like he’s in no hurry.

But he does laugh a little when Steve grunts and tugs at the belt loops of his jeans. He relents, then, pulling back so he can shuffle out of his pants and his underwear.

When he presses himself back over Steve, he’s naked, pressing him down into the cool softness of the moss.

“Wanna taste you,” Billy says. “Will you let me?”

“Anything,” Steve sighs, pleasure zipping through him as their bodies meet. “Please.”

He can feel the way Billy smiles against the skin of his neck, leaving a wet kiss there, sloppy with tongue and teeth. Like he’s marking Steve, like he’s making Steve _his_. And he continues that way down Steve’s body, pausing for a moment to tease at Steve’s nipples with his tongue, nipping them until Steve’s squirming underneath Billy, until he’s panting even harder. Gasping out Billy’s name, hips arching up off the cool moss.

Billy finally relents and makes his way lower, until his breath is hot and wet over Steve’s length. It has Steve breathing a sigh of relief, of want, of clawing desire. The _finally_ almost getting a voice from his lips.

But Billy doesn’t _stay_ there. Instead, he laps over Steve’s cock once, tongue leaving a wide and wet stripe of saliva in its wake. He then moves to the meat of Steve’s thigh, biting once, twice, then sucking a red mark until Steve’s squirming again, gasping out with his fingers tightening in Billy’s hair.

And then, before Steve can even complain, Billy’s hands are under the backs of his thighs, hot like a brand, lifting Steve up and up, until his upper back is all that’s left on the moss and Billy’s tongue is pressing between his cheeks.

A half startled cry echoes across the clearing. Steve's eyes are wide as he spasms, as wet heat slips against his skin and then teases, presses, works deftly against where Steve wants Billy most. His toes curl and the muscles in his abdomen bunch up, cock weeping and twitching against his belly, helpless to whatever Billy will give him bent in half like this.

But Billy’s got him, strong hands supporting him as he licks inside, as the heat of his tongue presses _in and in_ , not teasing, just finally giving Steve some of the desperate relief he’s been seeking. It’s wet and hot and intimate, but Billy has no qualms about lapping at him, about giving Steve more and more until he’s gasping, until he’s tugging fistfuls of Billy’s hair.

His tongue feels impossibly long. Impossibly wide. So wet and hot, saliva rolling and dripping, until Steve feels _soaked_. Until he wants to press his thighs together and squirm.

But Billy's as giving as he is relentless. Steve chokes on a moan, on a needy little noise, and feels his body rock when Billy presses in and fills him up. His eyes roll back and he pants Billy's name, fingers winding tight in his hair.

Steve can barely keep his eyes open with the way Billy’s got him groaning, shuddering, shaking. It’s _so much_ and he’s so slick. He tries to rock up into nothing, but Billy’s holding him fast, keeping him steady. Filling him up with his tongue while Steve’s moans become more breathy, more strung out.

It's so good. Too good.

Steve can barely handle it. Is barely clinging on. His voice pitches helplessly higher and he pulls at Billy's hair, voice cracking on his name, on a plea.

Because there's precome on his belly, pooling in his navel, and with every undulation of Billy's tongue, his cock gives another kick, so close to falling, to breaking apart, that he can barely understand it all-- the pressure, the heat, the bliss of it.

But then Billy’s pulling _back_ , slowly removing that impossibly long tongue from inside Steve, leaving him feeling empty and desperate. Like he’s underwater, desperate for a breath.

Billy lowers him down against the moss, gentle, _loving_.

“You ready?” Billy asks, leaning closer, crowding overtop of him, nosing at Steve’s ear and pressing a kiss to his jawline.

Steve grunts, arching a little, jerking a bit. “God, Billy, just fuck me.”

Billy smiles, kissing up Steve’s jaw to his lips. Then, he kisses Steve deep, licking into his mouth, just _taking_ , pressing Steve further down and against the embrace of the ground.

“Pushy,” Billy says.

But he’s still grinning, reaching down to steady himself with a hand. Lining himself up -- and then pressing _in_.

It's better than he dreamed. Billy fills him slowly, perfectly, in the best way imaginable.

Like Billy was made for him.

Or Steve was made for Billy.

He spasms around him, gasping, eyes going wide.

It shouldn’t be as easy as it is. Steve shouldn’t be so slick, so wet, but Billy’s tongue paved the way for his cock, got him loose and ready. It shouldn’t be the case, but Billy’s _magic_ , Steve knows.

Not that it matters.

All that matters is the way Steve feels when Billy bottoms out, filling up Steve all the way. Until they’re flush and close, and Billy’s licking into Steve’s mouth, overwhelming all his senses at once.

He feels connected and pressed down and consumed. Steve groans, low and sweet, as Billy ruts forward a little, filling him all the more. He squeezes around him, eyes fluttering and heavy, tongue lazy against Billy's as he clutches at his shoulders.

It's all skin on skin. All heat. Drool sliding down from the corner of his mouth as Billy kisses him long and deep, Steve feels utterly and completely _taken_.

It’s so much. It feels so good. Steve’s skin alight with the feeling of pleasure, of adoration, of desire all culminating into this moment, Billy touching him, filling him, taking him.

“You’re mine,” Billy says, hips rolling as he breathes into Steve’s ear. Cupping Steve’s face with one of his warm hands. Holding him. Cherishing him.

Steve moans, arching, straining a little, to meet him. “Yours,” he breathes, delirious on the pleasure of it all. “I'm yours.”

“I love you,” Billy says, breaking off only to press his lips over Steve’s pulse, his breath hot against Steve’s skin. “I love you.”

Steve's eyes burn, his chest feeling tight, and his throat works and works and works as Billy peppers kisses along the slope his neck. He clutches Billy closer, legs hitching up, arms wrapping around Billy's shoulders as he cradles the back of Billy's head.

Tears spill down the sides of his face, Steve presses his mouth to Billy's temple. “Don't stop-- _don't stop, please, Billy_.”

Billy gives him everything. His hips drive in fast and hard, filling Steve up just the way he wants, just the way he _needs_. It’s everything, knowing Billy’s this close to him, this connected to him.

It _hurts_ , but only because Steve knows he doesn’t get to _keep_ this. Because he knows that this moment of perfection is only that, that it’ll be years and _years_ until he would even consider taking Billy up on his offer.

But it feels _amazing_ too, Billy driving into him, stretching him, hands everywhere, like he’s gotta leave his brand on Steve, hot fingertips pressing, mapping, claiming.

His chest is aching at the same time the rest of him is lit up from within. A palm splays over the center of Billy's back, over the ripple of muscle, like his skin is fighting to contain him. The feeling of it, the idea that all of that power is fixed on him, between his legs, makes Steve shudder and gasp out.

It makes his head swim. Makes that pressure low and heavy below his navel swell and threaten to break him completely.

“I wanna--” There's sweat glistening on his skin; there's the obscene, slick sound of Billy sliding home into him; there's the heat of their mouths and the breaths they take in between. “ _Ah_ , I-- I wanna feel you come in me.”

“You will,” Billy promises, voice thick and heavy. “But I want,” Billy says, “I _need_ you to come. Wanna feel you.”

And then there’s a hand slipping between them as Billy slides home, fingers wrapping around Steve’s cock, working him over in time with each of Billy’s thrusts.

Steve cries out, arching, spine bowing up sharp. His breath comes, reedy and punched right out of him, and he feels _every inch_ of Billy as he drives in.

It’s almost too much. It feels _too_ good, Billy giving him this, sharing this closeness with him.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” Billy says, breaking off to lick an obscene and scalding stripe down Steve’s neck.

He drives in further, impossibly so, strokes getting long, fingers working Steve over, teasing at his head. Steve grunts, jaw going loose, eyes rolling back.

He's so full. Split open and complete in a way he's never felt. He feels-- he feels _everything_ and _all at once_ and it's _so good_.

Finally-- _finally_ \-- Steve can't hold on anymore. He jerks, seizing up a little, locking up tight around Billy's body-- Billy's _cock_ \-- and he comes hard and fast. Spills out as he sobs, as Billy fucks him through it, come covering his stomach and chest and Billy's fingers.

Steve’s cries fill the clearing around them, landing soft on the moss, like the place is soaking them up, saving them, using them. And maybe it is, because Steve can nearly _feel_ the gratitude that radiates out of Billy, out of the ground, out of the air between them.

Billy kisses him, hard and deep and passionate, licking into Steve’s mouth as he fucks into him, his own breath growing more and more ragged -- until he’s panting out Steve’s name, hips faltering -- until he’s burying himself deep and spilling wet heat into Steve.

Steve lets out a breathless sigh, a keen of a noise, lashes fluttering as he's filled with an overwhelming rush of _warmth_. It settles in his belly and shoots up from the base of his spine to his nape and down to his toes and to his fingertips, tingling across his nerves like fireworks and he feels _awake_. Feels a drugging, intense wash of _euphoria_ that cleans away the pain of it all and he laughs, half hysteric, as they pant into each other's mouths and he drags Billy down for another long, messy kiss.

They kiss for what feels like hours, Steve just losing himself in the feeling of Billy’s tongue sliding against his, against the comfort of feeling so close, of feeling so absolutely adored.

“I love you,” Billy breathes into Steve’s mouth, fingers carding through his hair. “Forever. I’m yours.”

Steve's throat works and works and works again, eyes fluttering, a familiar ache settling back into his chest. He pushes Billy's curls back, away from his forehead, and nods.

“Me too,” he whispers. “I-- me too.”

Billy is still inside him, getting softer, but still so close, keeping Steve so full.

“And you’ll come visit me? Come here, see me in this clearing?”

“Yes,” Steve says.

“I'll wait for you,” Billy says. “I promise. However long it takes. Even if that's -- forever.”

“I know,” Steve says, still pushing his hair away from his face with a clumsy hand, eyes wet again and throat tight. “I know you will, Billy.”

All Steve hears for a long time is the sound of wind through the trees, the sound of Billy breathing against Steve’s throat, head tucked there and unwilling to move, like he’s hiding from the world, from everything, from maybe even time.

“Will you stay?” Billy asks, after a while. “For just a little bit longer? With me, right here?”

“Yes,” Steve says, because he's a sucker for punishment, for prolonging the pleasure despite or maybe to spite the pain, and he holds Billy closer to him because he can, because he knows he won't _see_ Billy, have Billy, _hold_ Billy like this for a long time else he be tempted to accept eternity too early. “Just for a little bit longer.”

-*-

When Billy leads him to the edge of the woods later, away from the clearing, away from the closeness and the love that the clearing held, the sun is high in the sky. The snow has stopped and the skies are blue.

It doesn’t feel like the right weather for a goodbye.

Steve thinks it should be grey. It should be raining. It should be _pouring_ down on their heads.

Or at least it should be snowing, still.

Steve tips his face up to the sun, closes his eyes, feels the warmth on his face a contrast to the shallow blanket of snow that's settled on the town, and doesn't think it's _fair_.

Billy's hand is still in his.

Billy’s lips settle, so gentle, on his cheek.

“I love you,” Billy says. “I’ll miss you. Please come back? If you can. If you _want_.”

Steve opens his eyes, turns his face to look at him, and offers a sad smile. “I want to. I will. Just… maybe don't let me see you. Not even if I ask.”

Billy swallows, quiet. “I can do that. Are you sure?”

“I'll want to stay too much if you do,” Steve says.

“How will I know? If you ever _do_ change your mind? If you ever do want to stay?”

Hopeful. Maybe stupidly so. Blindly so.

Steve twists, turns and takes Billy's face between his hands, and kisses him. Kisses his mouth and his left cheek and his brow.

“You'll know,” Steve says. “I'll tell you. And you'll know.”

“Okay,” Billy says.

He kisses Steve back once, then twice, and then one last time before he takes one step back and slowly lets go of Steve’s hand, his inhuman warmth leaving Steve cold, lonely.

Steve wants to crumble to pieces, right there, already without his touch. Already longing for that closeness, that impossible and complete connection.

He doesn't, though. He sucks in a breath and nods and curls and uncurls his hands at his sides to keep from reaching out.

“Billy--” he says and cuts himself off and feels the words choke him.

“Go on,” Billy says. “Go live your life, Steve. _Enjoy_ it. And I'll be here. Whenever you want me.”

_I want you, now_ , Steve thinks, but he doesn't say it.

Instead, he stands there and looks at Billy and knows he'll never love anyone like he loves Billy. Instead, he stands there and feels heartbroken.

“I'll miss you,” he says, choking on it all. “I-- I love you. I _love_ you.”

“I love you too,” Billy says. And he sounds sad and scared and so deeply truthful. But he's not holding Steve back, not asking him to stay.

And Steve knows, if Billy asked again, right now, Steve would say yes.

He's grateful he doesn't.

And instead of standing there and prolonging the torture of it, Steve steps close and kisses Billy hard, one last time.

Billy folds into it, deepens it, slows it. Hand cupping the back of Steve's head, fingers warm, mouth soft. It's perfect. It's terrible. It's everything, all at once.

It lasts until Steve can't take it all anymore.

He pulls away, gasping and hitching out breath after breath. Resting his forehead to Billy's.

“I have to go,” he says, but it's more for himself than anything.

“I know,” Billy says.

He takes a step back, away from Steve. One step back into the forest, into his home.

Making it easier for Steve to leave.

Making it easier for him to not reach out again.

And Steve turns away to keep himself from doing the same thing. Then, after a breath, he walks forward.

He walks away.

-*-

The trek back home feels long. He knows it isn't, knows it's maybe minutes before he's right outside his home, seeing Hopper's truck in the driveway with the lights still flashing, seeing everyone gathered inside, past the glass, in the living room, but it feels long. Impossibly long.

Like Orpheus, Steve doesn't look back, no matter how much he wishes too. Knows if he does, he won't keep moving forward.

He doesn't know who sees him first, once he's unlatched the gate with frozen fingers and stepped inside, but he hears the sliding door open and he hears Nancy say his name. He doesn't know who holds him first, as his teeth start to shatter and his knees give, but when the tears come he recognizes the smell of cigarette smoke and coffee and knows it's Hopper who has him.

“It's alright,” he keeps saying, his hand on the back of Steve's head. “It's alright.”

But it isn't, and Steve doesn't know how to tell him.

-*-

When everything's calmed down, when he's been poked and prodded and hugged half to death by the kids and by his friends, Hopper pulls him aside into the den.

Steve cuts him off before he can even begin.

“He's gone,” Steve says. “He's not coming back.”

Hopper's mouth presses into a thin line.

“I was gonna ask if you were okay,” he says.

Steve rubs a hand over his face. “I will be.”

“They’re halting construction again. We’re building a case to press charges, to get them to drop the project entirely,” Hopper says.

When Steve doesn’t say anything, Hop just lets out a long sigh.

“You want a drink, Harrington? You look like you could use one.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. “Please.”

Before Steve can blink, one is being pressed into his hands.

Or maybe it’s that he’s blinked quite a few times and he just didn’t notice.

Either way --

The whiskey tastes like nothing, but it burns on the way down.

“Sit,” Hopper says, and suddenly Steve’s ass is on the couch and Hopper’s in the chair across from him, looking at Steve like he’s assessing him.

Steve sips from his drink a couple more times.

“Did Brenner…?” he asks, trailing, not sure if he wants to ask if Brenner survived or if he died.

“He didn’t make it,” Hop tells him, frowning.

“Oh,” Steve says, and nods and thinks he should feel sad about that, but he doesn't.

“It’s only a shame he didn’t get to face the consequences,” Hop says. “What he did --” he trails off and shakes his head. “Terrible.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, downing another mouthful of whiskey, feeling it burn across his tongue. “Fucking terrible-- that's a goddamn nice way of putting it.”

Hopper breathes out. He has his own glass of whiskey and is drinking it fast. No need to slow down for ceremony, when they’ve seen what they have.

“He deserved worse,” Hop says, after a long sip. “Much worse.”

Steve thinks about what Brenner’s fate might have looked like if Billy had gotten to him worse. If Billy had worked his magic, twisting and rotting and decaying Brenner’s body while he was still alive.

And it should disgust him. It should _terrify_ him.

But he finds himself wishing Billy _had_.

“He did,” Steve agrees, with a sure, unyielding tone, more firm than anything else he's said since he stumbled home. “He should've gotten worse.”

Hopper just nods, like he’s imagining the same.

“At least your friend scared him half to death,” he says. “Imagine that.”

Steve lets out the breath he was holding, knocks back the rest of his drink, and then holds out the glass. “If you really want the whole story, you're gonna have to get me drunk first, Hop.”

“ _Is_ there more of a story?” Hop asks.

And, really, that’s it, isn’t it?

The guy Steve was dating is a monster. A towering, antlered, ancient god.

“Not really,” Steve says. “He's still alive, though. But he-- I made him promise-- well. He _said_ he wouldn't do… what he'd been doing, unless he had to.”

“And do you believe him?”

Hop, to his credit, doesn’t sound skeptical. Just serious. Like he trusts Steve’s opinion on this.

“Yes,” Steve says, but doesn't add the _why._

“Okay,” Hop says.

It’s a long minute before he breaks the silence again. But it’s only to raise the bottle of whiskey and gesture at Steve’s glass.

“Top up?”

“Please,” Steve says, holding his glass up again.

They drink like that, in the low light of Steve’s den, not saying much, until it’s dark out and the shadows are creeping long.

Steve refuses to look out the window. He keeps his eyes on his glass, the woods a blur in his periphery, until his drink begins to blur, too.

“You should get some rest, kid.”

Steve grunts, but eventually nods and knocks back the rest of his drink.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “You're right.”

“You going to be okay on your own tonight? Or you still having this sleepover of yours?”

“Guess that depends on who plans on staying.” Steve says. “I won't turn them away.”

“Want me to find out for you?”

“You don't gotta treat me like glass, Hop.” Steve says. “The breaking is over. Not much more damage to be done here.”

Hop just shrugs. “Least I can do is help pick up the pieces.”

Steve snorts up a pitiful thing of a laugh. “Walked right into that one, I guess.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder, warm and firm, and then Hop’s squeezing, and heading out of the room. “I’ll go get your friends.”

For a moment, Steve's alone. There are long shadows, painted across the floor, the walls, like specters, and Steve wonders, half mad and chest aching, if they would solidify under his touch if he tried to reach out.

He knows they wouldn’t, though. What he wants, what he’s yearning so desperately for, stayed in the woods.

His love kept his word.

He must have.

“Hey,” Nancy says, sliding into the place next to him on the couch.

Tommy sits down on the other side of him, saying nothing, but a steady presence regardless.

Steve leans into him and sighs when he feels Nancy's fingers at his nape. He closes his eyes, feeling so _tired_ , and lets them take a little of that weight.

“You staying tonight?” he asks, but his voice is distant, as if from a long ways away.

As if he's not really there. As if he's still standing out in the woods, somewhere.

“Yeah,” someone says.

Steve nods. Yeah, that’s good. Good that he won’t be alone.

But maybe he’ll never truly be alone again. As long as his house backs to the woods, as long as he stays in Hawkins, he knows Billy will be there. Watching.

Waiting.

Instead of hurting, somehow, it's that thought that gives him peace.

-*-

After all, Steve has an entire life to live ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 10 will be an epilogue


	10. epilogue, or: how long, baby, have i been away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please heed the added tags.

The walk through the trees is a quiet one.

For a long time, it always seemed so loud, so impossibly deafening, to walk between the roots and hollows of each tree. Like something was ringing between the branches-- birdsong and wind, whistling through-- loud enough to make the entire place sound alive. To make it sound like the woods themselves were breathing.

He learned a long time ago that the breath of the forest doesn’t quite sound like that. That it’s more a guide than a steady cadence. The quieter it gets, the closer he is.

He thinks, during those first few months after the fire, that the woods were angry with him. They’d lead him in circles and circles until he finally fall through to the clearing cold and dirty and more often exhausted than not.

By the time he’d get to the clearing, to the steady stream and the soft moss and the warmth-- a relief against the cold of those first months, of the bitter ache it left in his bones-- he’d been worn out. Weak. Desperate.

He thinks maybe that’s why it lead him around like that first. Thinks maybe it was trying to get him past the anger and the ache and to the point of wanting so badly that he could not leave that clearing until the forest-- until _Billy_ \-- took his fill of Steve.

And he thinks that’s fair. Thinks that, back then, he was so _angry_. So _lonely_. Thinks that if he’d found the clearing any earlier, he’d have done something stupid. Thinks that, if he’d stumbled there, with a pit in his chest, he would have collapsed against the moss and begged and cried until Billy came to him, and then Steve would have never left.

And Steve hadn’t been ready to stay. Not really.

So the forest intervened. Kept him looping in lazy circles until he was reaching out and touching the leaves of each passing tree without malice. With kind fingertips and soft admiration.

Until he knew he wouldn’t beg so much when he got to that field full of baby’s breath and morning glory.

It had been hard. The beginning even more so than the end. Trying to find his feet, dealing with his friends, dealing with Hopper. It had been painful to look out his window at night and imagine shadows that moved and reached out to him knowing that they wouldn’t, not really, not until he was ready for them.

That first year had been the longest. The coldest, too.

Winter seemed to drag on well into spring.

He liked to think it was Billy’s way of mourning.

But it’s summer, now, again, and the trail hasn’t changed in the years that Steve has walked it-- even if he’s the only one who can truly find it-- and the gold light of the late afternoon is filtering through the canopy above and the cicadas are out and singing and guiding him home. There’s a rabbit, running along the path ahead of him, vearing off and on it, and Steve smiles to himself as he watches and listens to the rustle of the brush.

The air cools off as he approaches the clearing, like it always does. Equalizing out, yielding more comfort. Steve’s never been able to figure out, in all the years he’s been coming here, if it’s truly the _air_ cooling around him -- or something magical happening to his body. Like his body’s becoming something new, something heartier, something more like Billy -- content in the woods regardless of temperature, of weather, of anything else.

His hands are careful as always as he pushes the branches apart to duck his way into the clearing.

He nearly stumbles over the soft green moss underneath his feet with what he sees.

There, on a fallen tree in the middle of the clearing, is Billy.

He’s older, now. The faint beginnings of wrinkles by his eyes, by his mouth -- just like Steve. The dustings of grey, the tell-tale sign of years past his college days. He never really _thought_ about it, the idea that Billy’s image might age _with_ him. That one day, Steve might see him again, and he’d look _different_ than before.

Older. And yet still just as gorgeous as the day Steve first saw him.

But that doesn’t change the surprise at seeing him, the jolt Steve gets through his chest at the sudden knowledge that he’s not alone.

It’s not entirely unexpected, either.

“Hi,” he says, and feels dumb and young and twenty all over again, but they haven't spoken in years-- not really, not like this-- only in flowers left on Steve's doorstep and whispers in the wind.

“Hi yourself,” Billy says, and he sounds the same, the way he always does in Steve’s dreams.

Steve doesn’t want to beat around the bush. He’s waited so long, anyway.

“Do you know?” he asks.

Billy just nods.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get longer,” he says. And it sounds genuine. It probably _is_ genuine. Steve’s lifetime is just a blink for Billy. Sure, he might yearn, but he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d wait.

It’s just that he didn’t have to wait for as long as either of them originally thought.

Steve shrugs, smile small, eyes creasing at the corners in a deeper way than they had when he was a little younger. Steve’s had a good decade. He’s loved and lost and laughed. He’s happy.

But he’s dying.

“It is what it is,” Steve says. “There’s not much we can do about it, now.”

“I couldn’t help you,” Billy says. “I just want you to know -- I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t stop it.”

Which means he thought about trying. Maybe he even _did_.

“I didn’t expect you to, Billy.” Steve says, stepping forward, properly into the clearing, pausing long enough to toe of his shoes and step barefooted onto the moss with a soft sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “I always miss this place. It’s been too long.”

“Too long,” Billy agrees. “But I understand.”

The time between Steve’s visits has always stretched a little. It’s gotten longer and longer, since his diagnosis.

Steve’s pretty sure he still smells like antiseptic and hospital grade bleach. He feels tired and his bones ache and the nausea has been killing him worse than the pain, some days. It’s only now, standing here in the clearing, that the aches and dying pangs of his body are soothed.

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” Steve says.

“I’m glad I did,” Billy says.

Steve feels wordless, breathless, and he nods. “I’m glad you did, too.”

“Did you have a good life?” Billy asks, even though he knows Steve did.

Steve’s told him about it, every time he came to visit. Kept Billy updated about everything. His love, his heartbreak, his challenges, his successes. It was the illness that he _didn’t_ share -- but even that, he knew Billy knew.

“I like to think so,” Steve says.

“You got to live,” Billy says. He’s quiet for a second before he pushes himself up and off the fallen tree, before taking a couple steps toward Steve. “Would you like to live again?”

And this is the part Steve’s been dreading for so long. For so many years.

“You sure you still want me to?” Steve asks, tentative, careful.

Billy looks a little stricken.

“Of _course_ I want you to. I want you. Forever. As long as you want me.”

“I know you said that,” Steve says. “But it was a long time ago, for me. I just wanted to be sure it was something you still wanted.”

“I’ll always want you,” Billy says. “Until we’re as old and gnarled as the forest itself.” He pauses, then, stepping forward, reaching out toward Steve. Tentative. “But, you’re right, it’s been a long time. Do you want me, too? Do you want that forever with me?”

“I've wanted you for years,” Steve says. “I never stopped wanting you.”

“Forever is a long time,” Billy warns.

But they both know what the alternative is.

“I think I can handle forever,” Steve says. “As long as you're there.”

“I’ll be there,” Billy says, holding his hand open. “For as long as you want me.”

Steve reaches for him without hesitation, his hand sliding into Billy's. Letting him coax him closer.

“I'm old, now.” Steve warns. “And not nearly as pretty.”

“Please. You’re not old,” Billy says. And they both know that he’s not. Not nearly as old as either of them figured he’d be at this point. “And you’re just as pretty.”

“Still always trying to complement your way into my good graces.” Steve says, painfully amused, horribly fond.

“I don’t lie,” Billy says, smiling.

He pulls Steve a little closer, until they’re up flush against each other. He cups Steve’s jaw, hand gentle and warm.

And then Billy leans forward and kisses him, unreserved, un-shy. Like no time has past between them at all, like it was just yesterday that they were kissing goodbye -- not a lifetime.

Steve kisses back just as sweet-- just as slow. His mouth burns and his heart settles and he's happy.

It’s a different kind of happiness than what he’d found in his life, before. Not any _more_ happy, but not any less, either. Just a different flavor, a different shape.

It feels a little like the inevitability of the seasons, the certainty of the tides.

Like coming home, one last time.

When Steve pulls back, his lips are still tingling. His breath is a little short. And Billy is looking at him like he always did-- like Steve is worth so much more than anything he could ever dream.

“How do we do this?” Steve asks. “How does it happen?”

“It’s just like falling asleep,” Billy says. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” Steve says.

Billy nods and Steve lets his eyes fall closed, the world going dark around them. The clearing slips into his thoughts, warm and comforting as Billy circles his arms around Steve, hands pressing flat against his back, supporting Steve as he feels Billy lower him down against the soft moss underneath their feet.

It’s like lying down in his childhood bed. Familiar and easy.

He can hear the woods around them. The chirp of crickets. The cooing of birds. The rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Steve lets his breath even out as Billy presses his lips to Steve’s forehead. His breath is hot against Steve’s hair, warm like the heat of the sun on a sweltering day. But cold, too. Like the biting winds of winter. The touch is so gentle Steve feels like break. It’s hard enough it feels like Billy’s kiss is a brand.

Billy’s everything, all at once.

Hot, cold. Dark, light. Life, death.

He wants to ask what happens next. Wants to ask what he has to do. What he should expect.

But he doesn’t get a chance.

Before he can acknowledge it, the world fades in around the edges. Everything quiets. Goes dull. Senseless.

There’s _nothing_.

Not even panic.

Just awareness.

 

Existence.

 

And when Steve opens his eyes again, everything is new.

“Oh,” he breathes, blinking a few times, lips parting.

When he breathes again, it is like the earth itself breathes with him. He sinks his fingers into the moss, just to feel it, and he feels the _pulse_ of life in the ground.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says again, blinks, and looks at Billy and sees the sun, like light itself is cradling him and holding him steady.

He’s grateful. Feels like he might just slip away if Billy didn’t have a good hold on him.

“Hi,” Billy says, and his smile is gentle.

Steve can see him fully, the human Billy overlayed seamlessly with his true self. He’s beautiful.

“Welcome to the rest of your life,” Billy says.

When Billy leans down and kisses him, pressing his lips to Steve’s, it feels like breathing in the stars, like tasting time and hope and the magic of nature itself.

Steve thinks, as he wraps his arms-- skin pale, paler than he'd ever seen it-- around Billy and draws the heat of him closer, tighter, until he feels the near painful contrast of his heat pressed against him, that the rest of his life, with Billy, sounds perfect.

Balanced.

Like they’re everything each other needs.

For the rest of eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you made it to the end, thank you! we're glad you sticked with us for this journey. we hope you enjoyed.
> 
> a very happy (and very belated) halloween to everyone.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always appreciated and cherished <3
> 
> title and chapter titles from lord huron's _meet me in the woods_.
> 
> you can find us on tumblr at [brawlite](http://brawlite.tumblr.com) and [toast-ranger-to-a-stranger](http://toast-ranger-to-a-stranger.tumblr.com/). come say hello!


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